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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 1 month ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 (𝑳𝑼𝑴𝑰𝑬𝑹𝑬) ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 day 14 (15… x_x)

tags : pwp (with plot), (it’s uhh kind of more on the plot side ish… i think? maybe? hfskj), praise, established but developing relationship, mild angst, hurt/comfort (ish), jealousy, possessiveness, slight spoilers for the lumiere myth, references to “midnight whispers”, kissing and making out, sliiight dry humping, wall sex, vaginal sex, desperate sex so it’s kind of rough ish, creampie, tl;dr both of you just can’t get enough of each other, use of pet names “angel” and “my star”, lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 3.7k

an : okay so i’m late queueing this but. COUNTDOWN TO XAVIER’S BIRTHDAY - ONE DAY TO GO !!! :D for my beloved darling boy here’s 1 out of 3 total fics prepared for him this month <333 (which may be off-schedule, BUT…) this was fun to write, so i hope you have just as much fun reading! sdkjfhsdk at this point i think i’ve barely ever written xavier fics without plot/feelings… loving this man will just do that to you i guess…

taglist : @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @darlingdummycassandra @spotted-salamander @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @rafayelsgf @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @love-and-deepstrays @keioxo @theanbitchless (SIGN UP HERE)

AO3 / KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

There’s a lot more to Xavier’s jealousy than you realize, and you’re adamant on setting it right.

This was how it was to be in love with you.

The sweet smell of roses, a walk under the cherry tree.... The calm breeze of morning and soft, fresh linen sheets. Sunlight peeking in through the window, pages of a book. Of words that could mean more to him than he could ever think to describe.

Xavier could call on all the possible analogies he could think of, pull from all the poems and stories that he'd read. And yet none could compare to you. It was in the same way that the stars were second to none—so too, then, were you.

You had always called him your star. But to him, the opposite was just as true.

And perhaps that was why this was so difficult.

The stars were different.

Sometimes changing in position, sometimes visible, sometimes not... From where the both of you stood, they were tiny specks of light in the vast domain of the sky—illuminating the night as much as they could, but part of a different world altogether. Unreachable. Untouchable. So bright, so radiant, that the single, slightest touch could burn him down to nothing.

They belonged to the skies; better admired from afar. It was torture to fall in love with something that, to anyone, felt utterly, unspeakably unattainable—

But that was how it was to be in love with you.

And it was a curse as much as a blessing.

"So then Tara mentioned this new place that opened up recently, and she swears by its service! She said we should totally go out and celebrate!" Your eyes gleamed with excitement as you spoke, taking in a spoonful of your ice cream to bring up to your lips. "So this does mean I have a little last-minute rendezvous later tonight... I'd have invited you, too, but—you know. Girl's night?"

His gaze remained transfixed.

The pace at which you both walked was matched, and relatively relaxed—yet he'd barely touched his ice cream. Instead, blue eyes focused on you as you spoke, tracing the movement of your lips and that sparkle in your eyes that he could never ever tire of.

"Okay," he murmured.

When you looked up at him, he glanced away, bringing a hand back to rub sheepishly at the bridge of his nose.

"...Really, really? Just okay? You usually, I dunno, ask me more about the people I'm with, or something..."

He shook his head, and there it was—the little smile on your face didn't go unnoticed. He knew you were trying not to tease, and your actions were so well-known by him that he'd memorized them all for himself. It was endearing to see you like this, knowing you probably knew his habits just as well as he did yours. And at the same time, he knew that you were right.

"Well, I mean... It's just Tara and the others," he said slowly. "You've... been spending a lot of your time with your hunter friends lately. I know who they are."

"I know who they are. You've a way with words, huh?" With a roll of your eyes, you took another bite of ice cream, before nudging him slightly with your elbow. "I've been trying to get to know more of the hunters in the Association lately. There's a lot of them, you know? I'm really glad that everyone's been so nice."

This time, he didn't say anything. Only a quiet hum, the soft crunch of autumn leaves on the concrete a sound that proved comforting to both of you.

The truth was, he was trying not to be so childish about it.

Something stirred in his chest when you spoke, that familiar discomfort that came with a feeling he knew to be jealousy.

It wasn’t a nice feeling.

But it was also easy to lose a star.

It was easy to lose you when, sometimes, he didn’t feel as if he had the right, really, to own you.

Because who was he to control your feelings?

There was no guarantee that, in this lifetime, you wouldn’t just up and leave.

And the more time you spent with others, the more he realized how true that could be.

There was no certainty that this was end game.

“Xavier?”

He heard your voice call out softly to him, and he looked down—

God. You were so cute.

Your head tilted to the side with a little air of concern, and he couldn’t help but smile. The moment a gentle breeze blew, he leaned down for a cheeky kiss on your forehead.

“X-Xavier—?!”

The incredulous expression on your face was one he wished he could preserve in his mind for eternity. He was sure that if that were possible, he really would.

“It’s nothing,” he assured. And he, himself, wanted to believe that to be true. “I like walking with you. It’s nice like this.”

It’s nice like this.

I hope it stays like this.

I hope that this time, we can just… stay together…

—

Oops.

That was the first thought in your head as you shot up from bed, eyes bleary with sleep.

Your phone was in your hand, and you stared aghast.

Package delivered.

You thought you’d been delusional when you could have sworn you heard nothing of a doorbell, until you looked at the address. And that was not your apartment number. That was Xavier’s.

You’d forgotten to change it—again.

Haphazardly throwing on a sweater and putting on your shoes, you raced out your door. The fact that you had yet to receive a text from him about it, nor have it delivered to you, likely meant one of two things: either he hadn’t received it and it was waiting outside his door, or he’d discovered what was in it.

His door absolutely did not have a package waiting outside it.

“Xavier? Xavier!” a little bit out of breath from the sheer shock of such a morning, you called out for him and hurriedly knocked on his door.

“Good morning,” came a voice from inside.

He wasn’t opening the door.

“Xavier…?”

“Is this about your package?”

“...Yes! Yes, it is! I forgot to change the address—”

“I have it.”

“Th-that’s great! Could you, maybe, open the door…”

A shuffling could be heard, and when the door did open, your jaw immediately dropped at the sighed before you.

He had opened it.

“Did you really order this? Were you planning to come here again and ask me to wear it?”

Xavier was frowning, his arms crossed in front of him—he wasn’t at all happy, that much you could tell. But you almost couldn’t focus on that. Not with the black tassel ear cuff hanging on his right ear, not with the suit he was currently wearing. And, those black gloves, the metal cuffs, the gold embellishments, the crimson dye, the blood-red collar… and everything.

It was a stark difference to how you usually saw him.

Xavier almost never wore black… But this looked phenomenal on him.

In retrospect, you supposed that there was nothing he could ever truly look bad in. But this? This was a whole other level of eye candy. There was absolutely no keeping that giddy smile from spreading across your face, even as you brought your hand up to cover your mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that…”

The way his brows furrowed was near downright adorable, the corners of his mouth turning down into a little pout. You could have squealed.

Almost.

Instead, your hands reached out in a look of wonder as you slid your touch down the side of his arm, feeling the well-made fabric of the suit. It was just a cosplay, and yet, it nonetheless seemed so well-made, mearly comparable to the original…

“You opened the package? It’s mine, you know,” you murmured, and with a huff, he stepped aside to allow you into his apartment. You weren’t mad that he opened it, really—and the fact that he put it on? While you could tell he wasn’t happy about it, he was already being nice enough to indulge you with all this again.

“Is it really your package? You could have delivered it here on purpose. I saw Lumiere on the label. These are clothes in my size.”

For a moment the two of you stared at each other in silence, and you could very well remember how this played out the last time you were in this situation.

“Well,” you started, if only to fill the air around you that had grown a little tense. “I didn’t expect it to arrive this soon… We were talking about it last night. You know, with the girls? A few days ago at the office, apparently Nero was all busy because a new line of Lumiere merch came out—a whole alternate costume! We talked about it all night and I had to order a set, too, I just thought I wouldn’t get it for another week—”

You were cut off in a swift movement.

With wide eyes, you found yourself pressed up against the wall, Xavier’s hands on either side of your head. The warmth of his presence so near you had you holding your breath, almost as if the air around you had turned from tense to suffocating. There was something about it that simply rendered you unable to breathe. It was easy to get all dizzy with him so close to you.

But when you looked at him, what you were met with was... not anger.

There wasn’t a trace of it on his features.

Instead, you were surprised to see a hint of something else.

His lips pressed into a thin line. Displeased, yes—but his gaze, while kept on yours, was desperate. Eyebrows knitted together, eyes narrowed ever so slightly with the prospect of almost begging you for something that you couldn’t quite place... Something you felt as if you should.

“Xavier?” you murmured. Your hand raised, slowly, carefully, up to cup his face.

This was different from the last time you’d played around with Lumiere’s costumes. He wasn't just sulking over it.

“...But is that really who you want to be calling?” His voice was quiet. Too quiet. This was an emotion you couldn’t quite read, nor was it one that was familiar to you.

“Xavier? What’s going—”

“It’s always like this.”

Your mouth shut, and you frowned, trying desperately to understand the tone in his voice.

“It’s still always Lumiere, right?” he let out a slow breath. “Why do you care so much about Lumiere? You’d talk about him to your friends, too. You’d spend an entire night without me for him.”

“What? That’s not—I told you, we just wanted to—”

“But I’m right here.”

The calm, even tone with which he’d been speaking slipped in that moment. A crack in his voice—though barely audible right in the moment—wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by you.

Something was wrong.

He was rarely ever like this with you—this wasn’t even an argument, it was just… It was something.

His right hand, previously placed by your ear, shifted to take your hand from his cheek. Taking the other at the same time, he pinned both hands back against the wall, preventing you from moving. The lace of your fingers together had you hyper aware of the leather texture of his gloves, and your breath hitched.

He leaned in.

“I’m right here.”

A repeat of his words.

Yet he almost sounded as if he could break.

“I know you are,” you started, speaking carefully.

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

This time you spoke firmly, meeting his gaze full-on with a certain sense of conviction that you were not going to let him try to doubt. “Please... what brought this on, Xavier?”

For a while, there was no answer.

His chest rose and fell, deep, calming breaths for himself almost as if trying to compose himself in front of you. You didn't like that. He did it so often; hiding things from you for your sake, putting on a braver face for you if only to keep you from worrying any more than you needed to.

But you needed to.

You wanted to.

Was that not what a relationship entailed? To worry about each other?

You could tell that this meant more to him than simple, petty jealousy—and you were determined to find out what that was.

“Don’t do that,” you mumbled. You frowned slightly, as if to make your point. “Don’t act in front of me. Don't put up a front. You’re upset, right? Something’s wrong. Xav… Are you still jealous? Is that what this is?”

“...I’m not.”

“But you are. Don’t do that.”

Like before, his eyes averted, but you didn’t miss the way he had to grit his teeth just to make sure he would keep a straight face.

“Xavier.”

You tugged at your wrists.

“Xavier.”

His eyes closed. While his grip on your hands loosened slightly, he didn’t let up—his forehead pressed against yours, and for the first time, you realized how shaky he felt.

His breath was warm. His hands were warm. You could barely notice the cold of the wall pressed against your back, the rest of his living room fading away into the background as if all that existed was you, and him, and this little corner you had to yourselves.

As if it were all that mattered.

In a way, it was.

He was all that ever mattered.

“I don’t want it to change,” he whispered. His voice was small; smaller than you had ever heard it before. “I don’t want us to change.”

“Huh? But we’re not changing…”

“No, we’re not. I hope we don’t. It’s enough like this, just to be with you…”

Something about his words stirred at the pit of your stomach.

I hope we don't.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps you'd been spending too much time without him, and perhaps he just wanted to feel... a little more wanted by you.

“Xavier…”

This time your hand slipped away from his hold, and it was back on his face, cupping his cheek. You watched him lean into it—a soft sigh of resignation, nuzzling into the palm of your hand like he wanted nothing more than your touch.

You swallowed thickly.

“Xavier, it’s not that I’m so fond of Lumiere…” you spoke softly. “I’m fond of you.”

His eyes opened, a slow blink of mild confusion.

“Lumiere is you. Is he not? He’s handsome, and gentle… just like you are.”

When his expression didn’t let up, you continued.

“Xavier, you saved me. I’ve always thought that Lumiere was amazing… But, now, knowing that he’s you—doesn’t that mean I get to love both you and him at the same time?” Your thumb rolled over his skin, and you leaned up slightly, teasing for a kiss. “I loved you first. So I like him because he’s you.”

The tips of your noses touched, and his lips brushed against yours. Your eyes locked this time, and he was all that you could see. All that you would ever see. Close. Impossibly close. Within reach… this time, because this was the Xavier that had come to love you. And that was all that mattered to you.

Maybe you felt a little sense of pride knowing this star was all yours. And maybe that was what he needed to feel, too.

“I… don’t like him,” he murmured. “I don’t want to be him… I just… want to be me. With you. Like this.”

"And you are you."

"But I'm not Lumiere. Lumiere is part of the past. I want… I… I'm here."

Ah.

Somehow, you understood.

Your gaze softened, and you let out a slow, quiet sigh. "Oh, Xavier…" you mumbled. “I like you no matter who you choose to be, Xavier. Ah—”

You smiled, and then shook your head. “Sorry," you corrected. "That’s wrong. I mean… I love you, no matter who you choose to be.”

You saw his eyes light up at that, breath hitching. Those blue, blue eyes—bluer than blue, the most beautiful shade of it that you’ve ever seen.

That was it.

That was what he needed to hear.

His lips trembled slightly, and then all you could feel were them.

He crashed against you, pinning you back against the wall just as he had done earlier, and you could feel everything. His knee between your legs, inching upwards, pressing you back with every ounce of his being as if the single, final thread of self-control had snapped.

“My star… my angel…”

He gasped between kisses, barely muttering out words before he would drag his lips plush against yours in a way that made you want. A way that made you need.

You moaned against him, his body melting, molding into yours.

My star.

Xavier was so unfair.

Even the nicknames you would reserve for him could be turned right back to you, snaking his way into your heart that he had, that he owned, because you had given it—everything—all to him.

And you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Not when the heat of his presence wrapped enveloped you in a hazy mist of love and desire, the pull of his touch so strong that you couldn’t ever think of leaving. His fingers curled into yours, his grip straining. Bodies pressed together, the outline of his bulge grinding between your legs—his hips rutted into you with not much thought behind his movements, and your desperate pants fell into each and every kiss as if you simply couldn’t get enough.

You couldn’t get enough.

Your mind could only fill with thoughts of him, because he’d taken that for himself as much as everything else.

“X-Xavie—mmphf—”

It didn’t take long.

Clothes discarded in barely a moment before he was hoisting you up on his waist and fucking you, your back hitting the wall with every upward thrust of his hips.

“X-Xavier!” you cried. Your eyes rolled back as he dipped his head into your neck, muffling his moans into your skin. “Xavier… Xavier… So good for me… so, so good, nnh—haa—”

Every praise uttered from your lips caused his thrusts to jerk, a whine falling from his lips.

He liked it.

“Mmh… Mh—yes— j-just like that! Ngh, you fuck me so, so well—ha-ah!”

You clawed at his back as the tip of his cock edged against your sweet spot, and you could tell with the way he choked out a laugh into your skin that you were in for it. His hips continued to snap against yours until you could barely register any coherent thought in your head. He would plunge in and out of your wet, leaking cunt with reckless abandon—you almost couldn't breathe.

“Xavier! Hnng—so good! Good boy, good—ngh—! Th-there! Please!”

You were long gone.

He could only hold you up with his sheer strength—you felt weak as you cried out endless strings of praise, obscene sounds of sex filling the room in an instant.

“My star…” He leaned back to hold you properly against the wall, grunting and panting. With his hair stuck to his forehead, droplets of sweat sliding down his skin, your eyes glazed over. “My star. My star. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine…”

With a mewl, your legs tightened around his waist, and he kissed you. Tongue, and teeth, and messy. Just as needy as earlier. Just as desperate as earlier. Your hands continued to claw at his back, fervent movements of his lips against yours in a foggy frenzy of pure want.

“Mine,” he gasped, pulling away just enough to speak. “My angel, my star—my pretty—pretty angel—my—good girl—”

His kisses, his thrusts, were punctuated with every word, driving you absolutely insane.

“Ngh—ah! Xavi—vie—Xavier—!”

You could barely get any more praise out as he easily turned the tables on you, lulling you into a headspace where all you could say was his name. His name, that, gladly, he would easily relinquish to you. A name that was yours as much as his. A name that you could call, this time, with the comfort of him being with you.

“Angel…” he groaned. “Feel'so good… Taking me so well…”

“G-gonna cum! Xavie—Xav—haa—!”

“Good girl… Good girl, good—girl—good—ngh—girl…!”

That was it.

One last thrust had you spasming around him, practically collapsing into his arms as he held you up, keeping you between the wall and his body as his own trembled with a release triggered by your own.

“So much… so much…” you buried your face into his neck, and he rubbed soft, soothing circles into your back. Hot, white ropes of cum filled your insides, enough to leak out of you, trailing down your legs.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, catching your breaths. There was comfort, in being held tightly in his embrace. And it wasn’t until a while later that either of you spoke.

“...The Lumiere plushie…” he breathed, quietly. “Do we have to keep it?”

You lifted your head, shooting him an incredulous look. “You’re still upset over it?!” Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark-themed Lumiere plushie resting neatly atop of the coffee table, and you let out a huff. “Xavier, really, I promise you that I—”

You stopped.

He let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling in what you noted was not quite amusement, but… happiness, nonetheless.

You huffed slightly, but it felt lighter knowing that he was happy.

That was all you ever wanted, after all.

His forehead pressed back against yours, and he spoke again.

“Do you mean it?” he murmured. “What you said earlier. That you love me… No matter what?”

You smiled.

“Of course I do, silly. Isn’t that what you say to me all the time, too? What’s to make you think that I can’t say it back to you?” you gave him a playful swat, rolling your eyes. “I agree with you, you know… I like it like this. I like being with you. I want it to stay this way, too. Because all I've ever wanted was to be with you. You, whoever you feel like being. Whether it's Lumiere, or the Xavier in front of me now. That's... what it's like to love a star. Right?"

Something flashed in his eyes, then, before he nuzzled against you in that way he so often did with you.

“...Mm. So this is what it’s like to love you."

He was whispering, and he seemed to be speaking more to himself.

But, he smiled:

“Ah, no… This is what it’s like to love you more.”

an : lumiere really is the best!!! 🥰✨

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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hyunteru · 2 months ago

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red lips - k. kenma

in which a famous streamer goes live with his girlfriend for a well known challenge— the buldak noodle challenge

pairing: kozume kenma x f!reader

tags/warnings: just cute fluff, cursing, established relationship, timeskip, written in 2nd point of view, reader’s spice tolerance isn’t that good

“Hey guys, kozuken here with—“

“Me! hi chat!” Kenma couldn’t help but smile as he watched you reveal yourself on stream, waving happily at the camera as everyone settled into the stream and started spamming the chat box with comments and greetings. He doesn’t know how you somehow convinced him into doing this challenge with you. He remembers watching people do that stupid cinnamon challenge years ago and judging them for putting straight powder in their mouth, now here he is. In front of millions about to eat the world known “spiciest noodles ever.”

“Alright so— today we have the uhh…buldak hot chicken flavour ramen” Kenma starts off as he holds the empty package on the screen, to save time, the noodles were already cooked and “evenly” separated into two bowls, courtesy of you. “And i guess the challenge is to finish the bowl without literally dying or having to get milk”

“it smells and looks pretty good though” you observe as you take a hold of the bowl and use your chopsticks to mix them around a bit, keeping out the part where your eyes literally started watering when the hot steam hit your face the first time you added the sauce into the pot. “Yeah, nothing more appetizing than literal red.. orange looking noodles that burns my nose” Kenma says sarcastically as you roll your eyes playfully with a smile “You’re only saying that because you held the pot right up to your nose and smelled it!” “Did i?” laughter fell between you too as you playfully jabbed his side and he tried swatting your hand away.

It’s not like you hated spice, you tried to build up your tolerance but that always ended up in runny noses and ice cream. Kenma on the other hand didn’t care for it much. In general, he never liked trying new things. He stuck to what he knew and avoided trying things he knew he wouldn’t like. Despite that, you somehow convinced him to try these “viral” noodles that were going around the internet. People were good at faking reactions for views or money so you (and admittedly, him) were curious as to if these noodles were as “bad” as they seemed. Plus, it’s not like he could ever say no to you.

You held up the bowl to the camera as you pulled the noodles up with your chopsticks, displaying the red fiery noodles to the screen. “Oh by the way i added the whole sauce packet— you know? for the whole experience?” you added on as you retracted the bowl from the camera and held it in your hands as you looked at your boyfriend. You can tell by his face that he wasn’t excited or happy at that at all— Kenma wasn’t very good at hiding his distasteful face. “Of course you did” he huffs out as he grabs his bowl too and held his chopsticks, but there was no malice in his voice whatsoever. You were right anyways, if you’re gonna do some food challenge you might as well go all or nothing.

“Cheers!” You smiled as you took a generous amount into your mouth, Kenma watching you as he took a more cautious bite instead. “Oh wow— it’s actually pretty good” you say as you nod and look at your boyfriend as you continued chewing, but as you continued chewing the flavour intensified more and the burning feeling finally started to rest on your tongue. Kenma was already sweating in his merch hoodie, feeling the spice going down his throat and out his nose as he thinned his lips out and tried not to show a huge display of a reaction. Both of you in silence as you looked at each other, waiting for the other one to break. There was never an agreement on what the “winner” would get but you’re sure it would just be bragging rights, that and the fact that his whole chat would witness it.

The spice was hitting you in the back of your throat, making your mouth secrete more saliva to try to get rid of the burning sensation. Your resolve was falling but so was his, so now it was just a battle of endurance. Your eyes flickered to the glass of milk on the table and back at your boyfriend, a taunting push to see if he would break but he kept his composure and flickered his eyes to the milk glass as well and smirked lightly. “How are you holding in there?” Kenma teases as he looked at you, trying to ignore the way the spice was coming up again as he talked. “Great— just great.. i’m fine.. yeah” you resort, trying to convince yourself otherwise but you were sweating like crazy and the room felt much hotter than it was 10 minutes ago. You silently cursed at yourself for taking such a confident bite at the beginning. Watching too many mukbangs gave you some sort of will and determination that it wouldn’t be as bad, but obviously that’s coming to bite you in the ass now.

Kenma spent years with you, learning your body language and different behaviours. He knows you were fighting to not break by the way you were gripping your knees and occasionally wiping your palms against your pants. He knows you’re sharing the same burning feeling in his mouth and it definitely wasn’t pleasant. Kenma also knew how absolutely stubborn you are, but this spice wasn’t the good type of spice— no, this spice was burning and it felt like his taste buds were shrivelling up in real time. If Kenma was with Kuroo or anyone else, he would suck it up and hang in there to play to long game until the other person gives up. His dignity was too precious to risk and his competitive nature would’ve kicked in. But this was you, and god he loved you so much.

He reached over to the table and took the glass of milk and swallowed it down, the moment you saw him basically surrender, you reached over to grab your own glass and swallowed down the cooling liquid as well. Feeling the instant relief to the burning that once surrounded your mouth. You were honestly surprised that Kenma was the one to back down, you were sure that he was gonna just bite his tongue and hang in there. But, you weren’t gonna complain anyways. Panting lightly as you lowered the glass and finally feeling your body cool down, you look over at your boyfriend who equally looked relieved. He reached over with a napkin and wiped your lips that were covered in the sauce from the noodles, you didn’t even notice the burning on your lips because you were too focused on everywhere else. “Feeling better?” “Mhm— and i feel even more better knowing i just beat you!” Kenma smirked at that as he flicked your forehead “You want ice cream? there’s some in the freezer—“ You didn’t even waste a second to get up and immediately leave the room, basically cutting him off as you rushed out.

Kenma watched you leave with a fond smile, when you were out of sight he moved the two bowls aside and cleared his table a bit as he looked at his chat that were flooding with messages. “What do you mean i let her win, chat?” he says, acting clueless as he leans back on his chair. His eyes skimmed through the messages that kept coming in “What can i say? my girlfriend is just that much better” he says sincerely. He didn’t need to admit out loud how absolutely smitten he was with you, everything showed in his actions. It really didn’t take a genius to figure out how in love with you he is. And he was absolutely okay with that.

m.list

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu #haikyuu x you #haikyuu time skip #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #hq x reader #hq #hq fluff #kozume kenma #kenma #kenma x reader #kenma fluff

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firefly--bright · 2 years ago

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No Big Deal (i love you)

jean kirstein x gender neutral!reader.

inspired by this song by Dodie :)

warnings : none tbh, just pure fluff and maybe a little too wordy. oh and mentions of religion. read author's note for specifics!!!!

a/n : this is a super duper self indulgent fic. uhh i was feeling kinda off and i wanted to write something for myself and something that would make me feel comfortable. i also got accepted into a French based college so,,,, inspired by that, too, I guess? but anyway, this IS very self indulgent, as said before, so read at your own risk cause some of the things might not be understood or like. they might not be your thoughts(?) usually i try to be more reader inclusive since yk everyone comes from different backgrounds, but i was really proud of the writing here so I decided to post it :) you don't have to enjoy it (!) it's just a ramble of thoughts, really. anyways have fun <3

tagging : @a10vely-yutazen taglist is open! send me an ask if you want to be added or removed OR fill the google form linked below :)

✿ masterlist can be found in pinned navigation ✿ requests are open! ✿ enter my taglist ✿

Jean’s love doesn’t feel new. His love feels more like something you’d already lived in before, something that was yours before you even claimed it to be.

And maybe it was. He had offered to sit and sketch with you in the park near your university, bringing you a warm coffee and holding you sketching materials for you before you could have a chance to complain. His free hand took a hold of yours as if it was meant to. And out of all things, you noticed his hand every time you weren’t holding it. His left hand would be free, dangling at his side, his fingers flexing and unwinding until they found yours, until you let them find your right hand to slip in, fitting in beautifully. The ridges in your hands were meant for his calloused ones, you think, and you keep thinking that maybe the slots in your hands, the folds that claimed to hold your future fit perfectly against his. Maybe it was overthinking, maybe it was wishful and stupid, but you wanted a future in his hands. If he sculpted as well as he drew, you’d let him sculpt the rest of your life just so it could have a part of him, just so he could imprint his fingerprints meticulously into the shape of your future. Your shared future, you hoped.

He's sitting beside you and you’re aware of your shoulder brushing his on the small Parisian bench, watching the people walk their dogs, listen to music, talk on the phone, hold hands, share an ice cream. You wonder if they’ve felt love like this, you wonder if they’ve tasted the same taste you have when you love him, the metallic taste of your own pumping heart and the sweet citrussy taste of the oranges he peeled for you the other day. you wonder if they smelled it too, his cologne, but then again, you’re glad they didn’t because if depriving everyone else of the love you had for him and vice versa meant that you could have it all for yourself, then you would. You would sit in this park bench forever, tasting your love, the one you stored for him, smelling his love for you, watching as his left hand danced gracefully on his sketchbook as if it had to show an audience. You don’t dare take a peek in his sketchbook – you don’t want to disturb his craft until he asks you to. Until he lets you.

He licks his lips, cold against the rainy weather. The wind is picking up a bit, you note, glad you were carrying your umbrella even if it would be futile to run home in this weather. You had come across this experience countless times since moving here – the rain starting as expected, as unexpectedly, as beratingly, and the cold pelts of the water hit you with sudden realisation that the wind was too strong against your umbrella as you abandoned it when jean took a hold of your hand, drifting to the nearest indoor establishment. His hair would be damp by the time you’d reach, and it would have made no difference to keep walking towards your home, but the quiet of the new store was welcome, as was the warmth. you’d pant, hands on your knees, and jean would run a hand through his hair, removing his scarf and handing it over to you with a small smirk.

You would take the scarf home every time.

You took a sip of your coffee, relishing it’s warmth between your hands. The heat was welcome on your cool digits. Uneven blood circulation and all that, sure, but also an excuse for him to hold your hand and stuff his and yours into the pocket of his trench coat that was almost always filled with lint, and some days, an unused napkin or a tissue he stole from your earlier café date.

Jean’s love is present. Yours hopes to be, pleads to be, desperately begs to cling on to being enough and whole and constant. You hope it is. Maybe you should ask him, you think, but all you manage is to lean your head on his shoulder and let your body do the talking your lips so stubbornly don’t. you shift closer to him, Paris is the city of love after all, and you hoped no one would bat an eye to you. not that you’d care if they did. he was yours to show to the whole world, and you were sure that he’d let you string him along to introduce him to god if you ever left Jean's side and if you ever made it do the gates of heaven, introduce god to him, abandoning the principles that shaped you, the religion that you were born from, just to smile and tilt your head and show him off.

“jean.” You called out to him.

“yes, love?” he answers with a question, glancing to his left, seeing your head on his shoulder and the way your chest moved with each breath. He waits until you answer his answer.

“you’re really pretty.” You say finally, and you swear this is the only time your mouth has worked to show your affection so openly and genuinely. Sure, you’ve called him pretty before, as he donned on his dark blue suit, buttoning the cuff of his shirt, or even while he sipped the tea you made him in the morning, sitting on the marble kitchen counter without a shirt because he ran hot ("in always hot, babe" he says). But you hoped this time he’d pick up in the massive gaps your dialogue left from your thoughts, you hoped he’d see what you’re really trying to say.

“youre beautiful, actually.” You clarify. You hope he sees through it.

Jean doesn’t say anything for a moment. For a moment, its silence, only the sound of whirring wind and leaves moving with said wind. So you speak again, like you have an audience, like you have a spectator, like this is the only thing that’s worth saying. You’re pretty sure it is.

“like… it’s more than being beautiful. I think…. I mean, ive been thinking, that you’re more than what you think you are. I know I’m probably not making any sense but… it’s unsaid, you know? How much I actually love you. like you say it a lot, and you mean it, and I say it a lot too, and I mean it but theres just so much more to it than I tell you. its not even anything like that phrase 'if you asked me to, I would,' which I would. I’d do everything you asked me to. But its also more like… I know you wont ask me anything. I know I am enough. Like…for the first time, jean, you make me feel like I’m enough. You make me feel comfortable….no, wait. You make me feel… you make me feel like I’m living inside a star. not as hot or big or threatening as the sun, not so cold and lonely and far away as the moon but just enough, like the stars, like…. Like it’s just us, you know? and you don’t have to even say anything for me to feel the love you have for me, like, I don’t doubt you or your love or my love for you which is rare, and admitting it sounds too big and scary, but….yeah. I love you in every sense of the word. Im sorry if I cant say it or if it doesn’t…sound the way it should from my mouth, but I hope you see it, yeah? Like, the unsaid things we do for each other, I hope you know I notice and I hope you know I do them too.” you say. you kept saying until he could stop you, which to your surprise, he didn’t.

He was still silent. You didn’t pick your head up from his shoulder, preferring his warmth to your own. You cleared your throat. “um… yeah. that’s all. You’re beautiful and I love you. a lot. I hope you know that, even if I cant tell it to you all the time. I draw you and write about you and to you, not as proof but because if I say it out loud I don’t know how much of it I’ll say or if it’ll even be understood and....I’m still talking. Shit. Sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry for loving you or saying this. Yeah.” you complete. Your arm had slipped through the gap of his, and his pencil has stopped sketching the moment you started speaking, hovering on the paper without the purpose jean gave it.

He still hasn’t said anything.

You finally look at him with your head still resting on his shoulder. The sky is cloudy and the sun will set in about an hour, but that doesn’t stop the rays to peak through the fog and coat the back of his head entirely. But that’s not what takes your breath away. It’s the way he’s looking at you.

Jean’s eyes have always spoken more than his tongue had, like your hands have talked for you, through you. one look at his eyes and you’d find everything he was thinking about, all of the present emotions in his boundless heart. His eyes were a reflection to his art, to his soul and his mind. Honeyed with specks of darker browns and greens scattered across, the colours being art itself. Better than you could ever try to recreate through your hands, better than the first time he’d shown you around Paris, his hometown.

And he’s looking at you now like youre the piece of art. Not in the way he’d sceptically look at art in the museums and exhibitions, but in a way where you were the only piece of art that he found meaning in, without even having to search for it. In a way that you were the only art that he kept coming back to and in a way where you were the only thing in the gallery that was his most favourite. His heart was also racing, his chest achingly close to yours. his brows were pinched together, almost touching and his nose was scrunched up like he was about to cry, and you were sure he was, noticing how glossy his eyes had gotten. And his lips were the best part.

A small smile. You remembered one time he had complained about his lips, claiming they were the least favourite part of his face, saying they were too thin, but you shut him up quickly enough with a kiss. Maybe more. And he was smiling now. With the same lips that had touched almost every part of you. his eyes spoke their own words and his lips breathed life into them, making something meaningful.

And for you. specifically for you.

His right hand cups your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I know. I see it. I feel it, which is the best part.” He says, laughing at the end. You smile at the sound, liking the way it makes him move his shoulders and chest. “I never doubted your love. I know you don’t doubt mine. I wish I could say things as beautifully as you write, but I’m not that poetic. All I can say is I love you.” he says.

And you feel it. You see it. You know it. He’s speaking in a language only you two understand now, and its not the language of love as a universal concept, but the language of your love, of the one you have reserved only and only for eachother and no one else. like the trees speak the language of the earth, like the birds sing in the language of the sky and like the fish silently swim in the language of the ocean, its you and its him and its your own words.

Your own love, the one you made yourself for so many years, the one you proudly presented to him, and his own love, the one he crafted and perfected for so many years, proudly presented to you.

And you’re smiling the smile that only he sees, his heart is beating the way only yours hears.

Jean’s love, you realise, is as lived in and comfortable as the scarf wrapped around your neck.

And your love, he realises, is quiet, but demands to be acknowledged.

Your love, jean realises, is his.

✿

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x you #aot #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #jean kirschtein

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fatedevour · 2 years ago

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KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. ( REPOST DO NOT REBLOG ! )

♢ — NAME: Irene

♢ — PRONOUNS: she/her

♢ — PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: discord mainly, although tumblr IMS is honestly fine as well.

♢ — NAME OF MUSE(S): Dottore (Prime segment mainly, but Gamma and Theta segments are also present on the blog by request so-)

♢ — EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): Ooo I’ve probably been roleplaying for about 16 years? give or take a bit, though the beginning was very much the cringe script-writing type but it was on an online game so that’s my defense. Tumblr has been about 7-8 years?

♢ — PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: Skype, Tumblr, Quizilla/Quotev, WolfQuest, etc.

♢ — BEST EXPERIENCE: Oh that’s really hard. A lot really would just be the friends I’ve made. Some fandoms are super welcoming and I did really enjoy that. Genshin has been very welcoming to me too which i was pleasantly surprised and thankful for.

♢ — RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS: Uhh. I guess trying to make my muse soft/force them out of character? I write a lot of villains and I stay very true to their nature as best i can. Or forcing headcanons onto my muse without asking/discussing it with me. Other than that I really can’t think of any?

♢ — FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: I love angst, although Dottore isn’t very easily a muse for that, or any of these three really. For him its a lot more dark themes. But! In regards, I do love angst. Fluff can be nice but i don’t feel I’m very good at it except for a very, very rare occasion. And smut can be fun to write honestly, because there can be a lot more than just the physical acts, there can be a lot of room to explore thoughts and characters understanding & exploring of each other/themselves in a way.

♢ — PLOTS OR MEMES: Honestly I tend to be more memes, especially to first establish some writing, but I do enjoy plotting as well! So long as its not like every single tiny detail of the thread, but overal dynamics or thread ideas & exploration im down for!!

♢ — LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: I do both honestly. It just depends a little bit. Short ones are nice for when i have less energy but I also really enjoy long ones! Especially because Dottore rambles when science comes up. So both, both are good.

♢ — BEST TIME TO WRITE: Whenever honestly. I am :) unfortunately still trying to find a job so other than errands and chores, I tend to have a lot of free time usually.

♢ — ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): UH. Maybe on SOME things? I was a biology major and often was the person to toss scientific ideas to my teachers that would stump them (and one had a doctorate so im rather proud of that- ironically it did have to do with cell regeneration) ended up switching my bachelor degree but I am contemplating going back for a Masters in Biology (Ecology and Evolution specifically). BUT I HAVE MORALS UNLIKE DOTTORE. Uhh. I do tend to lean more logical than emotional most of the time, do end to stay in certain roooms/spots. And i love questioning/exploring/learning new things. But not to his degree. There’s probably a few more things but so some things yes but others drastically no.

tagged by: @rosemourne (thank you!!)

tagging: i dont know who hasn’t done this yet, so if you haven’t, im tagging you.

#♢ — ❛ chitchat to pass the time ❜ ( ooc )

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athy-art · 11 months ago

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Very flattered you tagged me in this!

Last Song: Bard Dance from BG3! I've written out original lyrics for it ^^

Favourite colour: Something a bit muted, in the indigo-purple range. Periwinkle might be the term? Periwinkle-lavender?

Last show/movie: Blue Eye Samurai! I've been watching one episode per day for about a week

Currently watching: an r/TraumatizeThemBack compilation.

Sweet, spicy, or savoury: I'm with hef, why is there no salty option?? I guess savoury?

Relationship status: Complicated! But I'm open to new relationships, I just take a bit to fall in love with people. Aro/ace spectrum things.

Current obsession: Veeeeery much Baldur's Gate 3. Currently romancing both Astarion and The Emperor. Or, well, trying to in the case of Astarion. Right now we're very flirty but haven't established anything...I'll stop there lol

Last thing I googled: ... Whether romancing The Emperor messed with other relationships-

Uhh tagging! Hi-

@spiderin-space @amarachu @rinnymeow @nova-moshi @louise-echoes @yeah-chilidogs @celeste-tyrrell @7-galaxys @wynterwulf7

9 People to Get to Know Better

I wasn't tagged, but eh.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Last Song: Cheese by Jack Stauber

Favourite Colour: Green/Green

Last TV Show/Movie: Rise of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (ROTTMNT)

Currently Watching: random Film Theory videos

Sweet, Spicey, or Savoury: Spicey

Relationship Status: None ever, my aro ass would die (/neg)

Current Obsession: Sanders Sides (SaSi)

Last Thing I Googled: left meniscus

Taglist: @rataticaisdreaming @starshard17 @thegoldenduckie @getaloadofthisloser @yourchemicallyimbalancedromance @prodigal-explorer @warcats-cat @betamash @logan-the-artist and anyone else who wants to join!

[Let me know if anyone wants to be off this taglist!]

#no pressure to any of the people I tagged of course #as always #I dunno if I've ever been tagged in one of these #Or if I have it's been a while

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imtryingmybeskar · 3 years ago

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I suspect this week's Writer Wednesday will be inundated with Marcus Pike. So here's my contribution to that. Set in the Duality world, about 4 months after Chapter 10. Marcus Pike x F! Reader in established relationship. No beta as per. I wrote this on my phone in about 45 minutes so forgive everything. 1274 words . Warnings - 18+, allusions to smut.

Tagging @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape

Cake Day

"Okay, so don't freak out..."

Marcus leaned forward, hints of his FBI training present in the open body language he was displaying - you can tell me anything, you can trust me. And of course, you did.

"Go on..." he encouraged you, eyebrow raised in a questioning manner.

Maintaining eye contact, you brought out the length of silky black fabric with a flourish.

"Go on..." he said again, his voice even lower and much more suggestive than before.

You moved behind him and put the blindfold against his eyes. The lights were already low as the bakery had been shut for an hour or more. You had ensured that you were the one closing tonight in order to put your plan into action.

"Not freaking out. You know I love this. But uhh...at your work?"

You breathed into Marcus's ear after you finished securing the knot of the blindfold. "You have a one track mind, Mr. Pike. Not that I'm complaining." Holding his hands, you helped him to stand and then guided him to the back of the bakery to where you had made your preparations.

"Oh wow. It smells incredible in here!" he sighed. "That's the real reason we got together, you know. I don't think I could go back to life without your white chocolate cheesecake."

"I thought the cinnamon rolls were your favourite?"

"Today - white chocolate cheesecake," he grinned.

"Ah, well. Let's see what I can do for you. Sit juuust here." You guided Marcus to the waiting stool at the counter, and never being able to resist, you kissed him now that he was of a height with you. Marcus immediately grabbed you softly at the waist, holding you close to him and stealing two, three, four more kisses from you before his tongue was demanding entrance to your mouth. Never being able to resist this either, you slid your hands around his neck and stroked your hands through his hair before opening yourself to him and sighing deeply at the familliar and beautiful sensation of him being so close to you.

Breaking the kiss you nuzzled his nose with your own. "We're here for business, Mr Pike. Not pleasure," you admonished with a falsely stern tone. He made a low rumbling growl of arousal at your words and kissed you again before releasing you.

Moving as quietly as you could so he wouldn't guess what you were doing, you used a fork to slice through the vanilla and chocolate marble cake that was in front of you.

"Open your mouth," you instructed, as sensually as you could. Marcus obliged and you carefully teased his lips and tongue with the fork-speared cake before he lunged forward and captured the whole bite in his mouth. He groaned with pleasure.

"Okay, that's a new one. Gorgeous. Chocolate? And...vanilla?"

"Very good." A champagne filled flute stood next to the array of cakes on the bench and you held it to his lips to sip. "It's a more interesting but also less effective palate cleanser than water!"

Marcus hummed with contentment. "No, this is awesome! I feel so spoiled!"

Picking up the next fork, you prepared a mouthful of the layered passion fruit sponge for him, teasing him by running it softly over his lower lip, leaving behind a small smear of crumbed icing. Marcus sucked his lips into his mouth and then ran his tongue over the icing on the fork, making the small, concise circles you recognised so well.

"Tease," you moaned softly as your thighs clenched involuntarily.

"Me?!" he exclaimed in a wounded tone. "I'm not the one who put the blindfold on you...this time." He smirked with the last comment and you were reminded of the last time you had been blindfolded. He had run those same small circles over your skin-lavishing his attention on your neck, your nipples, your inner thighs and your clit, and making you scream his name so loudly that you were concerned you were going to get complaints from the neighbours.

"Hmmmm spongey, fruity goodness. Passion fruit?"

"Uh huh. Clever boy."

You delighted in the shiver of pleasure that ran through him at your praise and he took another sip of champagne before you offered him the last cake you had prepared. This time you brought his hand to the slice of white chocolate cheesecake and ran his index finger through the top before bringing it to your mouth.

"You look like you're having a good time. I feel left out," you whispered as you licked his finger from the base to the tip, bringing the sweet creamy mixture into your mouth and sucking it slowly from his finger. Marcus's breathing got a little heavier and you ran your own finger over the bulge that was starting to emerge in his jeans.

"Are you sure this is business?" he groaned and you giggled a little around his finger before letting him go.

"It is, I promise." You cut a small piece of the cheesecake with the fork and held it out to him with your fingers. "Well, maybe some pleasure too." Marcus wrapped his lips around your fingers and licked the sweetness from you.

"My cheesecake! With... blueberry?"

"Three for three Mr Pike," you smiled as he cleaned the creaminess and biscuit crumbs from your fingers. "You're good at this."

"I just like cake too much," he confessed after he had swallowed. "So...I hate to ask but what part of this was the business?"

"Well...I was wondering if anything you tried today would be good enough to consider for our wedding cake?"

Marcus smiled broadly and pulled you toward him. "Anything and everything you make is outstanding. And any one of those would be amazing. Um...wait...I mean, no none of them. You'll have to try again. With different cakes. But also maybe with that cheesecake." He moved to take his blindfold off but you stopped him with a gentle hand.

"Not yet," you murmured. "Give me a moment." You kissed him quickly before making the rest of your preparations on the kitchen top. You moved to stand behind him and undid the silken knot at the back of his head, kissing his cheek and nuzzling into the crook of his neck as you allowed him to see again.

The candles pushed into the plate of pancakes were the only lights in the room, and Marcus's face was lit by their small, flickering glow, his nose and brow casting shadows on to his face. They were accompanied by small pots of various homemade compotes and some maple syrup. He grinned broadly when he saw what was before him and raised his head to you questioningly.

"You're going to be in Paris for your actual birthday," you said softly, and to your surprise you found yourself getting a little choked up. "I wanted to do a little something before you go away and a little something when you get back. And you always make me pancakes so I thought I'd return the favour this time."

Marcus wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your chest. You kissed his head, inhaling the gorgeous woody scent of him that you adored and when he raised his beautiful, soulful eyes to you they were full of love and gratitude.

"I love you so much," he murmured as he stood, lifting you from the floor and setting you gently on the kitchen top before pressing his lips to yours and holding his hands to your face, running his thumbs over your cheeks. "And I think that it's now definitely time for pleasure."

#marcus pike fluff #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f! reader #marcus pike #writer wednesday

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elysian-prince · 3 years ago

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2021 Fic Review

Thank you for the tags, @binaryeclipse and @edge-ofnight! 💜💜💜

✨ total number of completed works: 6 completed works for 2021! though one of them was started in 2020 lol

💜 total word count: 72,806

✨ looking back did you write more, less, or the expected amount of fic this year?: Tbh I wrote a little less than I had planned and expected of myself, but the later part of the year has been rather difficult with family matters, so I’ve tried to not be too hard on myself about it!

💜 your own favorite story of this year?: I’m going to be a gay little shit and say just let me love you, which is the fic I wrote for @binaryeclipse for Valentine’s Day. It was the first time I had ever written a fic specifically for someone, and I enjoy going back and re-reading it not only because the boys are especially sweet in it, but also because I can see how clearly I was trying to convey “hey I like you, I really really like you” LOL. I think it worked?

✨ did you take any writing risks this year?: Hmmm, not... particularly, but I did include a bit of religious symbolism kink in a PWP oneshot for my modern AU and I guess that’s not everyone’s cup of tea.

💜 do you have any fanfic goals for the new year?: I would really, really like to finish all of my current WIPs, especially my rewrite of i’d give you my sunshine. On AO3 it looks like I haven’t touched it in a year, but I swear I’ve been hard at work on it, omg.

✨ most popular story of the year?: i just want you for my own. Honestly, I never expected this to be the fic that resonated with people so much! I came up with the car scene dialogue in chapter 1 while vacuuming one day and thought it would just be some silly oneshot. Now it’s my most popular fic ever by kudos :0

💜 story most underappreciated?: you’re holy to me. While I was writing it, I thought people would at least read it for the hot, vaguely religious smut, but uhh, I guess y’all aren’t into that despite the amount of priest Obi-Wan love? I kinda expected a better response on a PWP from such a horny fandom. If I dare say so myself, it’s really good and something I enjoy re-reading, so I truly wish people would at least give it a chance.

✨ most fun to write?: 🤔 Probably you’re holy to me? I tried to really let loose and explore things I’ve never written before! I also spent a lot of time looking up demon and angel costumes and lingerie, lol.

💜 most unintentionally telling story?: dreams of summer. Well, it’s not necessary unintentional, because I was very much intentional in delving into the subject of platonic versus romantic love. What I suppose wasn’t intentional was including so much of my thoughts and feelings regarding the development of my own relationship with my girlfriend.

✨ biggest disappointment?: Mmmmm, the general lack of response to every story I’ve written in the same AU as my most popular fic. With how popular the first fic in the series is, I kinda expected people to want more of the boys after they got together, but uh, apparently not. Y’all are missing out, established relationship fics are WONDERFUL 😤 at least my girlfriend has good taste. (/j)

💜 biggest surprise?: I didn’t expect dreams of summer to turn out as lengthy as it did, and I’m surprised I finished it as quickly as I did, but I guess I was also literally jobless at the time LMAO.

✨ my favorite part of fandom this year?: I’ve really enjoyed all of the friendships I’ve made within the obikin fandom. I’ve never had this much interaction with others within a fandom before, and it’s really great to feel like you belong to a part of a community, especially in these difficult times we’re in. Tagging: hmmm, I’m not sure who hasn’t been already been tagged yet! so if you see this and would like to do it, go for it and say I tagged you lol.

#tag games #elyse.txt

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boognish-worshipper · 3 years ago

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Midnight City AU

this is an au where the main characters are all young adults!! (or millennials ig? they’re in their 20s basically) i gave a rundown of what’s what on a diff post,, i’m also splitting it up into diff chapters,, so this is gonna take a looooong time to finish. i’m posting this before i nitpick my writing to the max

it’s basically a lot of references to that point in time, artists, pop culture etc. all the chapters are named after songs from that era (including the name of this au bc i love midnight city and what better way to describe LS ‼️), and the lyrics r usually connected to what the chapter’s about, or about a character dynamic :D i hope this isn’t too cheesy, or sounds off ig. any typos in this were probably over looked bc i constantly reread my writing and rearrange stuff and make sure it sounds good 🥳 hope y’all enjoy !!! i’m also including a tag to find the chapters under :)

//Chapter 1: Crimewave

Trevor would never, ever admit it, but he had fallen into the category known as “post-hipster”. This was a strange era that began culminating, taking LS by storm. Whether he liked it or not, he could never avoid it. Even if he swore up and down he wasn’t like them, it was practically a paradox. Saying he wasn’t like them just made him a branched off version of the thing he denounced. Each aesthetic that was churned out as the 2010s rolled in were tied to a style, a sound, and Trevor couldn’t care less. It’s not like people liked what he liked. He didn’t belong to anything in particular, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t like them. If anything, he just became another obscure genre in the mix.

One of his favorite music groups was a Canadian duo called Crystal Castles. He enjoyed a good number of their songs, developing an interest for electropunk and pop punk. There was something unique about the sound, and it made Trevor feel special, like he discovered some sort of hidden treasure. He was into pop punk groups like Paramore too, but it was something about them that was just different. People knew Paramore. He often lingered around Sterling Lake, where other post-irony hipsters and classic hipsters resided, careful not to fully associate with them. After all, he apparently despised them, even though he participated in their strange… “culture”. If you could even call it that. From time to time he would find himself discussing his favorite artists with whatever semi-normal person was there, making a couple friends himself who weren’t the snooty kind he’d grown used to.

They all loved talking about how exceptional their taste in music was, a wide variety of people hanging around with their own cliques. Some liked Fall Out Boy, while others liked Blink-182, and then there were the weirdos who liked groups like Radiohead. Most of those guys were whiny, proclaiming how misunderstood they were. He knew maybe one Radiohead song at most (he definitely, definitely never cried to “Creep” and even if he did, so what) but never found himself willingly getting into their music. Then you had the nosedivr crowd, which consisted of mostly girls, and the occasional hipster guy that defected. Their taste was.. alright. Consisted of artists like Lana Del Ray and Marina and the Diamonds, who were their idols. He found almost everyone there besides the few friends he made kind of edgy, and not in the cool way. But he figured all hipsters and guys like them were kind of uncool. Don’t even get him started on those other indie rock types. God. He still came back as often as he could though, establishing some kind of routine. Most people there avoided him anyway, which he preferred. He had enough troubles with them in the past. There was one day he grew tired of the people gawking at him, and he launched a hipster right into the lake. So yeah, nobody within their right mind so much as looked in his direction. That was just how he rolled.

Today, he sat on a nearby bench in Sterling Lake’s park, watching some ducks float on water. His usual friends had been there too, seeing his clowncore buddy Wade with his cousin Floyd. Wade was extremely different than the pretentious fucks around them. He had a shit ton of piercings, and ICP was his favorite music group. Floyd on the other hand, fit right in. Almost too much, like it was something he was forced to do. But he did genuinely enjoy Weezer, of all things you could enjoy. Wade started waving at Trevor, while Floyd hid behind him. All he did was awkwardly wave back, turning his attention back to the lake. He liked Wade, but the clown stuff he wore sometimes spooked him. He didn’t pay much mind to his relative. Looking back across the water, he saw someone new, observing the area. Some dude a little above the average height, hands in his pockets walking around. He seemed a bit lost, and Trevor figured he should help if he was. After all, what was this guy doing here? New people didn’t show up often.

“Hey bud, you lost or something?”

“Oh uh, nah not really. I’m just looking for this girl I met a while ago, said she hangs out around here?”

“What she look like? I’m here pretty often.”

“Uhh kinda short, dark brownish hair? Wears fishnet stockings, high waisted shorts or whatever those grunge people are into.”

“Let me guess, she into the Neighborhood?”

“How’d you know?”

“Yeah, that’s Amanda, she’s a bit of a regular. Not too fond of me I must say.”

“How come?”

“She’s just petty towards me.” He said with a shrug. He didn’t feel like relaying his encounters with her if the guy was dating her or something.

“Oh… well d’ya think you could help me find her? I don’t really know anybody else here. I could actually use the help, since you know her.”

“Eh sure, why not.”

It’s not like he had anything better to do. The two began to walk around the park, gravel and dirt crunching beneath their feet.

“So.. what’s this place about?” The strange guy asked.

“Hm? Oh, it’s just one of those places the hipster folks meet up I guess. Don’t understand it much myself, nor do I really like them.”

“Then why do you come here?”

“Dunno. It’s relatively peaceful, those freaks keep to themselves.”

The man, who was only a smidge shorter than Trevor, glared up at him.

“Hey man, don’t call my girl a freak.”

“Ehh I don’t really count her in with the generic skinny jean wearing hipsters. More of a.. what is it called.. nosedivr type. Whatever that stupid website’s called. Why do you think she dresses like that?”

“Huh.. Never really thought to ask her.”

As he thought about the stuff Amanda wore, he took note of how the man next to him was dressed. He sported an olive jacket with a black turtle neck, and a plain pair of jeans. He wore beat up black converse to top it off, and a pair of Rimmers sunglasses sat upon his head. He looked simple, yet distinguished with the way he presented himself, hair neatly combed back. He figured the two would look nice standing next to one another. They would’ve made an attractive couple, if they weren’t dating already, the kind that turns heads. Trevor wasn’t like them. He wore a black beanie over his mullet, and his favorite pair of red Dix sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose. The rest of his fit looked disheveled. He had thrown on a wrinkled top, solid black with little surf boards and cars along the bottom- he was a sucker for Hawaiian shirts. His pants were tan colored but had some bleach stains, with old combat boots on his feet.

“Yeah, we may not like each other but I don’t really consider her a freak like those guys.”

He jutted a thumb in the direction of a circle of guys huddled around a phone. The man holding the phone had strawberry blonde hair and a clean outfit on. An expensive looking outfit.

“Who are they?”

“The people here I absolutely cannot fucking stand. The genuine hipsters.”

“Oh.. and you’re..?”

“I’m my own kind. I’m not like these losers, all uppity and shit.”

“Right. Gotcha.”

They walked around a bit more before finding the group Amanda was with. She sat on a bench, chatting with a few girls who dressed similarly to her. All of them had black incorporated into their style. She herself had a black jumper on, tucked neatly into the front of her jean shorts. Just like the guy described, she had fishnets on under them, skater shoes to match. Loose braids fell on her shoulders, and a small black choker was wrapped around her neck.

“Oh, there he is now! Babe! Over here!”

She narrowed her eyes upon seeing Trevor standing next to him.

“Hello, Trevor.” She huffed.

“Relax, I was helping your boyfriend or whatever look for you.”

Her face softened slightly, but still kept a small glare in his direction. She pressed her lips together tight before replying.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Yup.”

The man turned to face Trevor, sticking out a hand.

“Hey, thanks for showing me around. Trevor, is it?”

“Don’t wear it out.”

He shook his hand, noticing how soft it was. It was in stark contrast to his own, which was rough and calloused.

“Name’s Michael. I’ll see you around most likely? Thanks again.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Amanda huffed again, nudging Michael’s shoulder.

“Let’s go hun, Bean Machine closes soon!”

“I’m comin’ I’m comin’!”

The two sauntered off, hand in hand. Trevor stood dumbly, watching them walk away. He was right. They did look good together. He wondered if he would actually see this Michael again, kicking a rock. He went back to the bench he originally sat at, putting his earbuds in, listening to some Crystal Castles again to pass the time. The beat thumped in his ears, and all he could think was how much better this shit was compared to that club music shit that played on every radio station in a 5 foot radius. He sat there, scrolling through his own secret nosedivr account, reblogging some photo of a lit cigarette. Right before a hand touched his shoulder causing him to jump.

“What the fuck- Oh. Ron.”

Ron was another friend of Trevor’s, a guy he had met outside one of the iFruit stores talking about how “they’re tapping the phones they sell in there!” and all that conspiracy nonsense. He was a paranoid guy, but Trevor kind of liked that about him. Those were the kind of freaks he liked. He was shorter than Trevor, sort of frail in stature. He wore a bright red windbreaker over a faded tourist tee that read “I went to Liberty City and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!”, along with khaki colored cargo shorts. It didn’t help that he wore some goofy looking bucket hat, and socks with sandals. He dressed like someone’s middle aged father.

“Trevor! Have you seen Wade around anywhere?”

“Last I checked, he was with Floyd.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Uh no, but my best bet is they went to that vinyl shop Floyd’s girlfriend works at.”

“Will ya come with me to find him?”

“Now why the fuck would I do that? What do you need him for?”

“Well I- I uh- um..”

“I uh! I uh! Spit it out Ron!”

“It’s about the Merryweather Night Club.”

Merryweather was a big organization that had a wide range of private clubs all over the country, and complimentary body guards to suit. They were all expensive as fuck, and anywhere they settled jacked up the prices of everything else. A lot of neighborhoods became gentrified as a result, and people actually considered it a good thing. What a fucking joke. Trevor of course couldn’t stand it. He hated bullies, and Merryweather was no exception. He’d been wanting to dismantle the club since they settled in LS, seeing as they only amplified the fake feel of the city. Let’s just say he’s gotten into more than a few scuffles with the club. And let’s just say it ended with someone getting stabbed as a result. The guy had it coming to him anyway. Between bouncers and the clubbers, they didn’t like Trevor or his kind loitering around the joint. It didn’t stop him from plotting some sort of revenge though. Ron per usual was on board, his reason being Merryweather’s violent history that had been swept under the rug. They were rather forceful relocating people who had lived in certain neighborhoods for years, Ron being one of their victims. Wade only decided to tag along because he wanted to be included.

“Ah fuck, what’d those bastards do now?”

“They’re throwing some big party!”

“…What fucking for?”

“All I know some guy’s coming to visit, somebody they labeled important and he’s-“

“Woah woah woah wait, Ron. Who?”

“Steve Haines.” He breathed out, careful not to be overheard.

Trevor’s eyes widened, his gaze shooting over to the posse he had poked fun of before. Steve was talking to the group, all of them doing that fake laugh they always did. God, even their humor was pretentious.

“Those fucking hipsters!” He hissed.

“I abhor them, you know that-“

“I know. I know. But, that Weston guy’s gonna be there with him-“

“Weston? Devin Weston?”

If Trevor hated hipsters, then he utterly loathed rich daddy’s money boys like Devin Weston. He had only gotten that stupid fucking night club because his father paid Don Percival enough money to let Devin do whatever he pleased with the Merryweather body guards. It was an elitist club, and they only allowed the best of the best in there.

“What the fuck’s going on there?”

“Something to do with those guys he hangs out with. I think they’re doing something major, expansion maybe-”

“And him and Devin are working together or..?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear much after that, that’s why I wanted to grab you and Wade and-”

“Then let’s fucking go get him, Ron!”

The two rushed out of there, heading for the vinyl store to look for Wade. Trevor knew a shit storm was coming, and he absolutely couldn’t wait.

//the next chapter’s gonna be longer i promise lolz

#gta v #grand theft auto v #michael de santa #trevor philips #young trikey #franklin clinton #lamar davis #lester crest #amanda de santa #steve haines #midnight city au

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rayadraws · 4 years ago

Note

So I was listening to mr lover man by Ricky Montgomery (AMAZING SONG) and I thought omg, what if Genos got hurt so badly that he had to stay a year with kuseno to get repairs. Of course Saitama could visit, but couldn’t take Genos home, not even for holidays. And poor pining Saitama is all depressed and Genos hates himself for getting hurt and AAA the angst~

Hhhhhhhh

Tags: hurt/comfort, mild angst with happy ending, established relationship, G-rated

Genos had had several close calls. It wasn’t always easy to tell, ’cause the guy would do everything to hide it, like a sick animal pretending it was feeling fine. And it was hard sometimes to even tell what was serious when it came to him - losing an arm or a leg or both was annoying, but not life threatening in the least, like it would be for a regular person.

There was no denying it this time, though. When Saitama found him in the rubble, he felt his stomach drop. The image haunted him even days after. He didn’t even dare pick Genos up from where he laid, he was scared of making it worse, with all those... bits exposed. He just guarded him until the drones arrived and then he went home, unable to eat or read or do anything, so he went to bed at 8 pm and tried desperately to forget this day had even happened.

The phone didn’t ring until almost a full day later and when Saitama picked it up, it wasn’t Genos on the other end but his doc. Saitama had never heard him sound so grim before.

”How is he? Itching to get back up yet?”

”Saitama-kun, are you sitting down?”

It was bad. Really bad.

Kuseno had a bunch of complicated terms for it, but from what Saitama gathered basically the connection between Genos’ brain and his body had been severed, which was really dangerous, for obvious reasons. There was a risk of brain damage, but there was also apparently a risk that his brain wouldn’t correct right to his cyborg body again, or any cyborg body, if those connection points had been too badly damaged. Which would be really, really bad. Brain damage would be kinder. Without a body, there would barely be any life left for Genos, he’d be little more than a brain in a jar.

The doctor kept him in a medically induced coma for what felt like forever. At least Genos didn’t have muscles that would atrophy from lack of use in the meantime.

When he finally woke up again, they had no idea what to expect. Kuseno had warned Saitama that Genos probably wouldn’t move or say much, if anything at all. He’d been put in a new body, one that was set up more for people undergoing full body modification surgery for the first time - kinda like a bubble-wrapped edition. No weapons, no fancy scanners - as little as possible for a badly jostled brain to deal with. Just enough to be a person.

”Hey, bud, how are you feeling?”

Genos just looked at him, not moving as much as a muscle. His face looked the same as before... all this. His hair might have been a bit shorter, Saitama thought. Easier to care for while he recovered. And of course, all the cables and wires connected at the back of his neck, so thick they almost formed a pillow under his head where he laid on the table, covered only with a thin blanket.

Genos could be stoic, but he rarely tried to hide his feelings around Saitama. It was unnerving to see him so still. Saitama couldn’t even tell if he recognized him or not.

Kuseno clapped Saitama’s shoulder as he made his way towards the exit later, but he couldn’t make any hopeful promises.

The next time Saitama came to visit, things were better, thank goodness. Genos could move now, a little bit. Mostly his facial muscles, but enough that Saitama could tell he was happy to see him. Over a month since the accident had already passed at this point, so he was happy to finally see some improvement.

The third visit, Genos was in a foul mood already by the time Saitama arrived. That was unlike him (at least around Saitama). Kuseno explained he was upset because of how long his recovery was predicted to take, which he’d just been informed of.

A year.

If they were lucky.

No monster fighting. No shopping. No tracking the mad cyborg. Genos was going to be stuck in the lab for months and months, watching the world go on without him while he struggled to even move his toes.

Genos could be stoic. He wasn’t that day. Nor was he raging, though. He couldn’t control his body enough to be. The tears flowed quietly as Saitama held his head in his lap and tried to tell him that it would be okay. That his stuff would be waiting for him until he was ready. Saitama too. And he’d visit, as often as he could and Genos wanted him to. He’d bring him his favourite stuff, his notebooks and the chocolate he had hid among the frozen peas back home. The stupid plushie version of himself that Saitama suspected Genos had commissioned someone to make for him. By the fourth visit, all the things he’d brought last time were lined up so Genos could look at them whenever he wanted. He looked pleased at that, at least.

He still wasn’t speaking, couldn’t move anything below the neck. Didn’t even have his own room - lab wasn’t set up like that - but they’d made this one corner all his. Kuseno had pulled down a TV, a radio, audiobooks. A potted plant, though Saitama had no idea what kind it was. At least it added a bit of life. This portion of the lab didn’t have windows, so the doc had hung up a poster of a forest instead. It was as nice as you could make such a place. And in the middle of it all laid Genos, propped up like a grumpy-looking doll, probably wishing he was anywhere else.

About four months in, he started to talk again, which was nice, though it was hard to understand what he was trying to say most of the time. At first it was mostly grunts and sighs, he struggled to form actual words. But at least he could point and make gestures now, if you gave him time, so he could point at what he wanted. He couldn’t write yet, but he could flip the TV channels and change the radio station, giving him at least that little bit of control of his life. And he could eat and drink again, even if he spilled a lot. Must be nice though, to be able to finally do some stuff on his own at least. Saitama couldn’t imagine how bored and frustrated he must be, he was normally so active.

They celebrated Christmas down in the lab that year. Saitama had asked Kuseno if he couldn’t at least take Genos to the nearest town, just for a couple hours, but doc said it was essential Genos was hooked up to all those cables 24/7. Poor guy. But they had cake together and Genos even managed to murmur a ’murry chrysmaz’, which was both sad and cute.

Saitama got him gifts too, a book about space that looked cool and a Gudetama plushie and a hoodie that was really warm and soft. Genos gestured that he wanted to wear it immediately, so Saitama helped him out of the Qseno Tech one and pulled the hoodie over his head.

It contrasted nicely with his arms, which Saitama told him. These arms weren’t polished grey or black like most of Genos’ designs, but white with black accents. They looked so... peaceful, by comparison. Didn’t even have blasters, just soft pads for grip, almost like pawpads. Genos sat completely still as he let Saitama feel his hand over, interlacing their fingers.

Without warning, Saitama felt his eyes starting to burn. He took a deep breath, trying to will it away, but that only made it worse. He looked away, until he felt Genos’ fingers squeezing his.

”Shen...shei.”

He broke down.

It was Genos’ turn to comfort Saitama, which felt wrong, but he was so good at it. He held Saitama in his arms, resting his chin on his shoulder, until he got it all out, which took forever.

”It’s not the same without you there. It’s so lonely...”

”Clean-n?”

”If I’ve... kept it tidy?”

”Yus.”

”Uhh...”

”Shenshei!”

When Saitama dared meet Genos’ eyes, he was giving him that disapproving stare that he knew well from when he was slacking off.

”I’ll make sure the place is spotless when you return home.”

”Goo. Call Kin.”

”I guess I can invite King over.”

”Foobooki. Ban. Moomen.”

”Fine, I do have friends.”

Genos reached up to wipe a tear off his cheek. ”Yus.”

Inviting people over meant he had to tidy up. It was a lot and he completely misjudged how long it would take. He was only halfway done when King showed up and he tried to apologize, but King didn’t say much, just helped him with the rest. They got pizza and played video games and it was almost like normal. Apartment looked a lot less glum now, too. Wouldn’t need to be embarrassed when Genos got back home. If he could keep it up for another six months.

”I’d come earlier, if you’d only let me in, Saitama.”

”Yeah, I know.”

”You’re welcome to visit me too.”

”Yeah yeah.”

They played in silence for a while.

”You wanna talk about it?”

”It’s lonely without him.”

”Yeah. But he’s doing better, right?”

”Yeah. He can sit up now.”

”Is it taking that long to fix his body?”

”S’not his body, it’s his brain.”

”Oh.”

They went back to being quiet. After Saitama’s character had gotten his ass kicked half a dozen times, he told King to go home. He was hesitant, asking Saitama twice if he’d be okay. He promised he would be. Besides, Fubuki was coming over the next day. They were going to sort the mountains of get well-letters Genos’ fans had sent him after word finally got out that Demon Cyborg was on extended sick leave. He’d asked them to keep that stuff at the HA, but apparently they had had enough of that and were going to dump the boxes at the apartment the next morning. Saitama didn’t look forward to it.

Fubuki showed up looking very casual, for being her. Saitama wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her in pants before, nevermind sweats, even if they were brand name. She brought food too, fruit and bread and stuff like that. But she didn’t ask any stupid questions, just shook her head at the stack of boxes of fanmail.

”We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

”Yup.”

”If you’d started months ago, it wouldn’t be this much work now.”

”Yup.”

Still, it wasn’t that bad once they got started. Most of the stuff they threw away, but they kept the treats and a few of the plushies. Saitama helped himself to one box of chocolate, but put the rest aside for Genos. Some kids had sent in drawings and those they kept too. They ate while they worked, taking care to not stain the letters.

”This one’s for you,” Fubuki said suddenly.

”Hate mail again.”

”No, nothing like that.”

”...”

”Listen. ’I read about Demon Cyborg and they say you’ve been seen walking alone in City Z. It breaks me heart to think of you being separated, you seem so close in all the photos. Please know that both of you are in our hearts. Best wishes.”

”Oh, well, that’s new.”

”We’ve all been worried, you know. For both of you.”

Saitama fiddled with the letter in his hands. ”It’s been rough. But it will be okay.”

Before he had the chance to stop her, Fubuki engulfed him in a hug.

He’d warned Genos that he was bringing him fan stuff today. Kuseno had encouraged Genos to read some of the letters, but he didn’t show much interest. They split the treats though and piled the plushies up on the least full shelf above the bed. The smallest one, a fuzzy cat, Saitama placed carefully on top of the potted plant. It was blooming, tiny delicate pink flowers.

”You know, I’ve never seen my cactus bloom, even after all these years,” Saitama remarked.

”Too bad,” Genos replied. His speech was getting clearer and clearer. He wasn’t chatting quite as much as he did… before all this, because it still required a fair deal of effort from him, but it was still a big improvement.

”Maybe I’ll bring cake, next time.”

”If you want.”

Genos didn’t remember his real birthdate. He didn’t remember much of the day his doctor found him either, but Kuseno did, of course. They’d picked that date as a stand-in birthday. They kept it simple, cause Genos didn’t like being surrounded by too many people and all, but they’d eat cake and Saitama always got him a little gift, usually slippers or oven mitts or something else that was practical. He’d waffled for like a week what to go for this time, especially with it being such a weird year and all. He still hadn't made up his mind .

Saitama took another letter from the pile and read it aloud. Reading vetted fanmail wasn’t so bad. They didn’t have to worry about weird or gross stuff, though Fubuki’s tolerance for allowing that had proven higher than Saitama’s.

”’In conclusion, get well soon’. That one was sweet, right?”

”I guess.”

”Oh come on, Demon Cyborg, with your ’hard exterior but fragile self within, so barely contained’.”

Genos snorted. It was like a balm, seeing him slowly return to his old self. That also meant he was getting increasingly restless, though. He’d already left his bed three times, now that Kuseno let him go without all the neck cables, once dutifully during physical therapy while supervised, twice at night when neither Saitama nor Kuseno were there to reel him in. The first of those times he didn’t get far, didn’t even leave the room, but the second he fell down a flight of stairs.

Thank goodness for his exceptionally hard head, or they might have had to put a helmet on him.

Saitama got it, though. Genos hadn’t like, lost any intelligence, or forgotten more stuff than, well, he already had. He still had his goals and interests and all that. And his body was still state of the art and ready to rock. The problem was getting the two - his brain and his body - to work together again. It was all way too complicated for Saitama, even when the doc tried to dumb it down for him, but at least Genos was going in the right direction.

The day came when Kuseno said it was okay for Genos to leave the lab for a few hours. They made a birthday date out of it, since they hadn’t had a proper date in nearly a year and his stand-in birthday was so close. It was hard to be left alone, though. People kept pointing and whispering and Genos didn’t want to deal with any of that. In the end, they bought tea and fancy cupcakes to go and then clambered into the nearest woods. Saitama had a bench or something in mind, or even just finding a nice patch of grass, but Genos had other plans.

”No, stop that.”

No response.

”Oi! Don’t!”

”Don’t worry, Sensei.”

He kept going higher. Into the damned tree.

”Genos! If you fall down your old man’s gonna skin me alive!”

”I will not fall.”

The next branch creaked worryingly under Genos’ weight, but he kept going. Slowly, but with great determination. What had gotten into the guy’s head?

There was nothing for it, then. With a great sigh, Saitama put the paper bag to his mouth, grabbing the edge with his teeth so he’d have his hands free. Branch by branch, he followed Genos up the tree.

About ten metres up, the stem of the tree split into two, leaving enough room for the two of them. With an exaggerated show of pretend-annoyance, Saitama made himself comfortable, placing the bag between them. Peering inside, he was pleased to note he hadn’t spilled anything. He looked up again. Genos was sitting with his eyes closed, hair moving in the breeze. He looked like an animal that had been released into the wild after a life of captivity. Maybe you wouldn’t think so looking at him, but Saitama knew Genos much preferred this environment to a busy city.

”Are you happy now, nature boy?” He nudged his companion in the side and handed him his paper cup. It couldn’t be more than lukewarm at this point, but his tea smelled real nice when Genos took off the lid to drink.

”Very pleased,” he all but purred.

”Can’t blame you, I guess.” And then, after a brief pause, ”I’m glad to see it. I’m glad you’re okay. You scared us, you know.”

”I know. I was scared too. And frustrated.”

”Don’t blame you.”

They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t need to. They said the rest through their actions, the held hands, the lingering gazes. The kiss, tasting of tea and pastries.

Saitama had no idea when he woke up that morning that he’d spend his afternoon kissing in a tree, but he had no complaints. Not until it was time to get down, anyway.

”We can jump.”

”Kuseno made me promise I’d return you without as much as a scratch and you already have a patch of mud on your shoulder. We’re not taking chances.”

”It will be fine.”

Somehow, it had escaped Saitama’s mind how goddamn stubborn his boyfriend was.

”How about I hold you and we jump together.”

”Sensei…”

”It’ll be like, romantic.”

”...Alright.”

Fortunately, Saitama hadn’t forgotten how much of a sap he could be.

It was a mess to stand up in the tree, nevermind getting into position, but eventually they figured it out. Genos grabbed Saitama’s shoulders and latched on, piggyback style, making sure to hold on to the bag as well, so it could be recycled back in town. Like that, they jumped down, and then continued. Apparently Genos couldn’t walk, now. Or rather, he’d decided he didn’t want to, that latching on to Saitama like a koala was better. Give that guy an inch…

When they got back inside the lab, Kuseno instantly looked worried upon seeing Genos being carried, but Saitama assured him that he was fine. He didn’t mention the tree climbing.

He was tempted to stay the night, but Genos was already really tired from the day out. Tussling his hair, he gave him a peck on the forehead and said his goodbyes, promising to be back soon.

That turned out to not be the case, but only because Genos was allowed to go home first. He called Saitama two days later, letting him know he’d be home soon. He sounded so happy, like an excited puppy. He just wanted to stop on the way and shop some stuff, so they could have a nice meal together once he was back.

Saitama never fury-cleaned the apartment with as much intensity as he did that morning.

And then, Genos stood there, wearing that baggy Qseno Tech hoodie and shining like the sun itself. He’d still need frequent checkups for a while and no monster fights for another month, at least, but he was back.

He was back.

”Welcome home,” Saitama smiled at him.

#writing #ahhhh this was fun #thank you so much for the idea!#ficlet

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ceealaina · 4 years ago

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Title: Hot for Teacher Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - AU: Teacher Ship: Stony, IronBros Rating: Teen Major Tags: Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Humor Summary: Tony is the established physics teacher, Steve is the truly terrible new guidance counsellor. It's not quite love at first sight (but it's a pretty close thing). Word Count: 10,660

Tony drew in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers told you what now?”

Miles grinned at him, like he knew he was raising his blood pressure with every word. “He said that he didn’t go to university. He actually dropped out of school when he was sixteen, and took a solo road trip across all of the US before he got his GED. Said it was the best decision he ever made.”

“Of course he did.” Tony fully dissociated for a moment, staring off into the distance before he shook his head with a full body shudder. “Well, regardless of what your esteemed guidance counselor may have told you, you should very, very, very strongly consider not doing… Any of that, and definitely going to university. And uh… Maybe come to me if you need help with those university applications, cause… Jesus fucking Christ.”

In the back of the room Cassie and Kamala giggled. “Mr. Stark!” Cassie gasped, feigning shock. “You said a bad word!”

Tony just scrubbed a hand over his face. “I hate you all,” he informed them cheerfully.

By lunchtime, Tony was still seething over the fact that the new guidance counselor was advocating for dropping out of school. He had term projects to approve, but couldn’t focus on the proposals, fingers thrumming irritably against his desk. He lasted all of five minutes before he was getting up, marching down the hall to said guidance counselor’s office and knocking sharply on the open door.

“Mr. Rogers? Could I—,”

Tony cut himself off abruptly.

The thing was, he hasn’t actually met Steve Rogers before. And while he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, it wasn’t someone built like a brick house — although, he’d heard that he was friends with Barnes, that was how he’d gotten the job, so maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. But their new guidance counselor was tall, blond, and all kinds of muscley, biceps flexing in a way too tight t-shirt as he bit into a ridiculously large sandwich. He’d jumped at Tony’s sudden arrival, turning big blue eyes up at him, and good god, that was one handsome man.

Shaking his head, Tony forced a tight smile to his face. “Could I have a word?”

He nodded quickly, frantically trying to swallow down his enormous bite, and Tony worked very hard at not imagining what else he could stuff his mouth with. Mr. Rogers scrubbed a hand over the back of his mouth, wiping off some sauce that had spilled, and did an awkward, half stand.

“Yes, yes of course,” he said, reaching his arm out. “Sorry, we haven’t met yet?”

Despite how frustrated he was, Tony couldn’t help grinning; the man was an absolute mess. He moved forward to take his hand, feeling a little swirl of satisfaction at how obviously surprised he was at the strength in Tony’s grip. “Mr. Stark -- Tony.”

“Oh yeah! Physics, right? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Steve.” He moved to pull a stack of folders off a chair. “Please, sit down. What can I do for you?”

Tony took the offered chair, leaning back against it comfortably as he eyed Steve for a long moment. “Steve, can I ask how long you’ve been a guidance counselor?”

“Uhh.” Steve shifted a little. “Not long?” He gave a crooked smile that Tony did not find endearing. “About a week and a half?”

“Yeah. That’s what I figured.” Tony sighed. “Steve, are you encouraging kids to drop out of high school?”

“What?” Steve’s eyes went wide and horrified. “No! No, of course not! I…” His gaze shifted to something guilty. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

Steve gave him a hopeful smile. “I may have mentioned something about my own… Choices... as a teenager.”

“Uh huh.” Tony gave him a ‘go on’ gesture.

“It was meant to be inspirational! They get so stressed! They’re trying to decide their entire lives when they’re only kids! So you know… I was trying to show them that not everyone has to follow the same path but also things can turn out completely differently from how you expected and it’s never too late to go back?”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered, rubbing at his eyes. “Well, at least you seem to genuinely care about the kids, I’ll give you that. But Steve, we’re just trying to get them as prepared for life as we can. You can’t give them ideas like that, and you especially can’t make them think things’ll work out all hunky dory if they do.”

“Hunky dory?” Steve repeated before realizing that wasn’t really the point of what Tony was saying. “Right,” he said, looking properly chastised now. “Right, no, of course. That makes sense.”

“Okay.” Tony was lingering now, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. “Great.” He got to his feet and headed for the door before he could make things weird. “It was nice meeting you, Steve.”

Over the next couple weeks, Steve kept spotting Tony around the school. He tried not to ogle him like a creeper, but judging by the way Bucky laughed at him every time they ate lunch together, he wasn’t successful. He couldn’t help it. Tony had been like some kind of gorgeous whirlwind, and he couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering about him.

And then, two weeks later, he was back with the same sharp knock and consternated expression. (Steve, thankfully, wasn’t stuffing his face this time.)

“Tony! What, uh… Something I can help you with? I’ve been doing everything by the book, I swear. No more epic road trip stories.”

Tony drew in the deepest breath, like a complete drama queen. “Steve. I understand a book told you to do it, but the Chamber of Secrets this is not. Please stop telling my seniors that abstinence is the only truly effective birth control method. The ones in my AP Physics class are taking it as a personal challenge to design an IUD that works as a cum trebuchet."

Steve blinked at him for a very long minute, trying to work out if he was serious, trying not to--

He burst out laughing. Full on, hand-on-his-chest, eyes streaming, can’t breathe laughter. It was a solid three minutes before he began to calm down and when he finally stopped laughing, Tony was just watching him. He was doing his absolute best to look annoyed, but Steve could see the little hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

“That’s uh… Thank you,” Steve managed, tamping down on another burst of laughter. “I really needed that today.”

“Yeah,” Tony told him dryly. “Glad I could help.”

Steve grinned back at him. “I’ll, uh. I’ll take that under consideration.”

When Tony came in the next morning, his AP students were huddled in the back corner, all giggling in that terrifying way that only teenagers could manage. He was so not feeling it -- he was still waiting for that last coffee to kick in -- but he took a rejuvenating breath and asked the question anyway.

“Okay, let’s hear it. Get it out of the way so we can get to sciencing. What’s so funny?”

This set off another round of giggling, half the kids blushing, and none of them quite looking at him. It was, finally, Riri who spoke.

“This morning Mr. Rogers told America Chavez that homosexual sex is also a 100% effective birth control method.”

Tony stared blankly out the window for a long minute. “Of course he did,” he muttered. “Okay, as thrilling as Mr. Rogers’ questionable sex ed is, let’s get started on some actual physics, hmm?”

While the kids got settled for the class, Tony took a moment to collect himself. It was quite possible that Steve was kinda a total troll.

It was quite possible that Tony kinda liked him.

Of course something got back to a parent, who complained about the school promoting a homosexual agenda. Steve didn’t get in trouble, exactly, but it was brought up in the staff meeting.

The enormous jar of rainbow-coloured condoms showed up on Steve’s desk the next day.

Tony had heard it through the student gossip line that, in addition to them being available for anyone to take as needed, he was getting students to guess how many there were in the jar, as some kind of ice breaker. If they were close, they got a mini Kit Kat bar.

He made it half a day before he was stopping in to see for himself.

Tony had prepared some semblance of an excuse for why he was there, some actual reason that the physics teacher might have had for engaging with the guidance counselor (again). But when he tapped on the door, Steve was looking up with a smile like he’d been expecting him. And then his gaze settled on the enormous jar of condoms, and Tony forgot to pretend to be there for anything else.

“What the fuck?” He couldn’t help laughing, a little incredulous. “Okay Steve, they’re teenagers. How much actual sex do you think most of them are really having?”

Steve shrugged unapologetically, but he had an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face. “I just like to be prepared. Wouldn’t want to run out.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, eyebrows arching. “Wanna guess all the flavors? None of the students have gotten close yet.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he blinked at the jar. “They’re not even flavored.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “That’s the joke,” he told him, like that was supposed to have been obvious. “Fine, since you’re so smart. Guess how many there are in the jar.”

Tony glanced back over at the jar, wrinkling his nose for about half a second. “Seven hundred and fifty… eight,” he announced.

Steve blinked. “What?”

“What?”

Still leaning back in his chair, Steve stared at Tony, then stared at the jar, then stared back at Tony. Then he shot forward and grabbed the jar, upending the entire thing over his desk. Making eye contact with him, he picked up a handful and started tossing them back in the jar one at a time, counting them out loud as he went. Tony started laughing, the sound close to a giggle.

“You’re not seriously going to count them all.”

Steve gave him an imperious look. “Gotta see if you’re right. Now be quiet. You’re going to throw off my count.”

Tony knew this was ridiculous, but he couldn’t seem to make himself leave. He kept telling himself he shouldn’t be encouraging Steve, but he stayed anyway, watching and laughing as he meticulously counted out each and every condom.

He’d made it to 616 when Bucky appeared, looming in the doorway as he poked at his phone. “Hey Stevie, you ready to go for… Lunch?” He trailed off as he looked up and saw what the two of them were doing, his eyebrows going sky high. “Uh. I’ll come back. Looks like you two are gonna be awhile. I don’t know what this is annnnnnnnd I don’t think I want to.”

“It’s science, Bucky,” Steve told him snottily, not looking up from his condom count.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is not science.”

“Of course it is!”

“Right,” Bucky said. “I’m just gonna…” He pointed for the door, but neither of them even looked his way as he left again.

“It’s math, Steve, and it’s barely that,” Tony insisted. “This is... counting.”

Steve gave him a look like he was an absolute fool. “I may be a lowly guidance counsellor, but I still know what counting is, Tony. The science is figuring out whether you can actually calculate the number of condoms in the jar --,”

“I can.”

“-- Or if you were spouting shit to fuck with me.”

“I wasn’t. And it’s still math, Steve. You’ve got the volume of the jar, and then size of the condom square. Math.”

Steve stared at him for a long minute and then, without breaking eye contact, tossed another condom back into the jar. “Six hundred and eighteen.”

Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “That was six hundred and seventeen.”

Steve ended up having to start over twice, and Tony was so busy laughing at him that he didn’t realize until 2:05 that he’d missed both his lunch and his free period and was, in fact, five minutes late for his AP Physics class.

“Shit,” he yelped, hopping out of his seat. “Those kids don’t let anything go, I’ve gotta run.” He paused in the doorway just long enough to give Steve a smirk. “Let me know when you’ve proved me right!”

The kids were all scattered around the room when he got there, Riri, Harley, and Kamala giggling over something on their phones, Cassie and Kate comparing notes on homework that was definitely not for physics, and Peter and Miles experimenting with something in the corner that may or may not have been explosive. Tony shook his head, feeling a headache coming on.

“Okay, I’m sorry I’m late, unavoidable circumstances. Let’s get started, yeah?”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter called, beaming at him. Nobody made any move to go to their seats. “If you’d taken seven more minutes, we’d be legally allowed to go home.”

“That’s… Not even remotely true.” He shook his head and clapped his hands together. “Come on, children. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Shouldn’t’ve been late then,” Harley snarked, but at least they were finally heading to their seats.

It was halfway through class when there was a knock on the door, and Tony opened it to some blonde girl he vaguely recognized from Nat’s lit class.

“Message for you from Mr. Rogers!” she chirped, heading off down the hall before he could ask further. His students were focused on their readings, and Tony took advantage of the moment to open the note, frowning as he tried to decipher the writing.

758 exactly. There’s something wrong with you. Also, I owe you lunch. Thursday?

Tony sat at his desk, and managed to read it over five times before Kamala happened to look up and see him.

“Hey, Mr. Stark? Why are you grinning like that?”

As soon as his lunch period started on Thursday, Tony headed down to Steve’s office, trying to convince himself that he hadn’t been looking forward to this since he’d gotten Steve’s note. The door was open, waiting for him, and he headed inside and promptly yelped as a king-sized Kit Kat bar was launched at his head.

“What the fuck?” He flailed as he tried to catch it, somehow managing not to drop it on the ground. He wasn’t particularly graceful about it, and Steve was openly laughing at him. “What was that for?”

Steve shrugged, unconcerned. “The kids get a mini Kat Kat if they’re close in their guess. You were exactly right, so I figured you get extra chocolate.”

Tony eyed him suspiciously and ignored the little delighted thrill in his stomach. “But you didn’t know how many condoms were in the jar.”

“Okay, so I just gave everyone a mini Kit Kat. Sue me.”

Tony just narrowed his eyes further. “So is this our lunch?”

Steve actually snorted. “Do I look like I survive on giant chocolate bars?” he asked, immediately flexing his biceps and twitching a pec. Tony started laughing, couldn’t stop himself, and Steve looked immensely pleased with himself. “No, Tony. I got us sushi.” Tony felt his eyebrows creep up to his hairline, and Steve huffed. “Okay, what?”

“Nothing!” Tony said quickly. “No, I just… You don’t strike me as a sushi guy.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “And what kind of guy, exactly, do you think I am?”

Tony shrugged as Steve passed him a container of sushi. “A giant, uncultured gym bro neanderthal who knows more about planking and protein shakes than he does guidance counselloring, but somehow got a job here anyway?”

“You’re such an asshole,” Steve muttered, but he was obviously fighting a smile.

Tony shrugged. “It’s like you know me or something.” He laughed, knocking back a tuna roll. “How did you get this job?”

“Bucky. We’re old friends, and now he’s my roommate too. So when the job opened, he hooked me up.”

“I mean, everyone knows that much. I meant why here? Why a guidance counsellor? No offense Steve, but you’re kinda terrible at it.”

Steve didn’t look offended in the slightest. “Hey, I wanted to teach art, but the job was already filled and somehow administration thinks art and guidance counselling are interchangeable.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Living in Brooklyn ain’t cheap. Somewhere since high school it became trendy, I guess? It was this or baristaing at a coffee shop near my apartment, but their coffee smells like soap.”

"Yikes."

"Yikes, indeed. Anyway, enough about why I’m so terrible at my job.” Steve nodded at the chopsticks in Tony’s hand. “Eat your damn sushi, Tony. You don’t eat enough.”

Tony paused with another tuna roll halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean, I don’t eat enough?”

“Every time you come in here it’s always over lunch. And then you usually stay through lunch and your prep period, and you don’t eat anything the entire time. You need to eat more.”

“Okay, stalker.” Tony shifted a little uncomfortably. “What are you, my nonna? I eat fine.” He huffed and slunk down in his seat, pulling his sushi tray closer on the desk. Steve just blinked back at him placidly and then reached out, putting his hand over top of Tony’s.

“It’s okay, Tony. I’m a guidance counsellor. You can talk to me.”

He said it in the same way that people on television crime procedurals tell the women they find in basements that they’re with the FBI, and Tony started laughing despite himself. And then he nearly choked on a California roll when Steve started passing him glossy pamphlets on healthy lifestyle choices.

The next day Tony made a point of showing up for lunch with a huge gas station soda and an enormous bag of pretzel sticks. Steve didn’t stop grinning the entire time.

Before either of them had realized it, it had turned into something of a routine. Not every day, but usually two or three times a week, Tony would forgo his lunch or prep period, or both, and come bother Steve instead. Steve had expressed concern once, that he wasn’t using his prep periods to, you know, prep, but Tony had assured him that being a genius came with some benefits. And really, his visits had quickly become the highlight of his day, and he had a feeling that Steve was enjoying them just as much, so he wasn’t going to worry about it too much.

Once Tony had gotten over his initial concerns about Steve’s guidance counselling methods, the two of them got along ridiculously well. Tony gave Steve shit constantly but it never failed to make him laugh, and he was just as good at giving it in kind. They bickered constantly, but it was friendly and easy and familiar.

Tony had never made friends easily. He got along great with all his coworkers, but with the possible exception of Nat, they were more friendly acquaintances than full friends. When he was a kid, Jarvis had told him that he was just too smart, that the other kids would catch up to him eventually. But that hadn’t seemed to happen, even as an adult. He didn’t know if people were freaked out by his multiple degrees, or if it was the chaotic energy he gave off, or most likely, some conflagration of the above, but aside from a few close friends -- who, admittedly, he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world -- people didn’t really… Warm to him.

Steve, though. Steve was different. Almost from the beginning Tony had felt a connection with him, and while he never failed to let Tony know how impressed he was by what he could do, he never seemed intimidated by him either. Tony would never say it to his face, but he kind of adored him.

Tony popped his head into Steve’s office a few minutes before the end of the day, arching an eyebrow when he found him frowning over some a manual with stick figures doing what looked like some kind of sport -- soccer, probably. He cleared his throat, and couldn’t help smiling back when Steve looked up and positively beamed at him.

“Getting a head start on your weekend reading there, Steve?”

Steve blew out an exasperated breath, rolling his eyes and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Soccer,” he explained, confirming Tony’s suspicions. “Apparently, I’m the new coach of the girl’s soccer team.” He pouted a little. “Administration is really hard to say no to.”

Tony considered this, taking a seat across from Steve and propping his feet up on the desk. “Why isn’t Clint doing it? It is kind of his job.”

“He’s busy with archery finals, it seems.”

“Archery… Finals?” Tony repeated, blinking curiously. “We’re the only school with an archery team. They split into two and compete against each other.”

Steve shrugged miserably, and Tony tossed a pen at his forehead to get him to smile.

“Hey, come on, there are worse things you could be coaching. Those lacrosse kids are wild.”

“Yeah…” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. “Except for two tiny little details. First, those girls are intimidating as fuck. They scare the shit outta me. And second? I… Don’t actually know anything about soccer.”

Tony snorted with laughter, before he realized Steve was serious and did his best to compose himself. “I’m sorry, how do you not know anything about soccer? You’re…” He gestured vaguely to indicate Steve’s general physique, and Steve sighed glumly.

“Yeah, I think that was the administration’s thought too. But I grew up as a scrawny art student. I know baseball, and that’s it.”

“Huh. The more you know.”

Steve groaned. “So now I’ve got to learn all these soccer rules for tomorrow, none of which make any sense to me.” He frowned down at the manual. “And aren’t there linebackers and quarterbackers and shit?”

Tony couldn’t help laughing then, not even trying to hide it. “Steve, that’s football.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, in his ‘duh, Tony,’ voice. “Which is soccer.”

They were still arguing about the two different kinds of football when Steve realized that he had parking lot duty. Not one to admit defeat, Tony had tagged along with him. He was once again trying to explain why American football was called football (“but it doesn’t even make sense if they barely use their feet, Tony!”) when a bright, flashy convertible had pulled into the pick-up lane. Tony caught a glimpse of Steve’s confused frown before the car pulled forward enough that he could see the driver and he went stock still, grabbing at Steve’s arm.

“Honeybear?” he yelped, loud enough that a couple of the lingering students turned their way as well. Steve gave Tony a bewildered stare but Tony hardly noticed, his eyes focused on Rhodey, leaning up until he was practically out of his seat and waving his arm at him, looking delicious in a tight white t-shirt that pulled against his biceps.

“Hey, Tones! Guess who’s back, baby!”

Tony made a noise that a lesser man might have even called a squeal, but he felt exactly zero shame about it as he took off for the car. “Bye Steve, gotta go, see you Monday!” he hollered over his shoulder as he went. He didn’t bother with the door, hopping over the side and sliding into the passenger seat. Rhodey lingered just long enough for Tony to give him an enormous kiss on the cheek before the two of them sped off.

“Uh. Bye,” Steve told them empty space beside him.

“So,” Rhodey said, yelling a little to be heard as they sped down the freeway with the top down, wind whistling through the car. “Was that your big gay crush?”

Tony choked on nothing, turning his head to face him so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash. “My what?” he repeated.

Rhodey looked over at him long enough to give him a stare. “Literally every conversation we’ve had in the past few weeks has been about him, Tones.”

“That’s not the proper use of the word literally,” Tony grumbled, and Rhodey shrugged, letting it slide.

Tony couldn’t though, milling it over in his head, and when they turned into the Italian restaurant in Bridgeport, he turned to Rhodey again.

“Okay, no, so wait. Why do you think I have a crush on Steve?”

“Tones…” Rhodey gave him a fond smile. “Come on, man, we’ve been friends for how many years now? I know what you look like when you’re crushing on someone. Even if apparently you don’t.” He gave him a pointed look, snorting when Tony just rolled his eyes at him. “You talk about him all the time. And sure, some of it is ‘complaining’ about how big and beefy he is, but a lot of it is how smart he is, and how funny, and how he’ll always call you on your shit… You don’t have to actually say the words, Tony. I can just tell.”

Tony pouted at the dashboard, mulling this over. “You’re dumb,” he decided finally, ignoring Rhodey’s snickers as he climbed out of the car. “Hurry up, asshole. I’m starving. And I don’t have a crush on Steve!”

“Alright, alright, fine,” Rhodey soothed, obviously not believing him in the slightest. “Whatever you say.”

Tony shot him a glare and didn’t hold the door for him as he headed into the restaurant. After that was the usual flurry of activity when Anna spotted them from behind the cash and hollered at Roberto to come out from the kitchen so they could make their usual fuss over the two of them. He and Rhodey had found the place by accident on a Boston to New York road trip in college, and at this point they'd been coming back for fifteen years.

With all the distractions, Tony was well into the garlic bread before another thought occurred to him. “Waiiiit,” he mumbled around a full mouth. He narrowed his eyes at Rhodey, who blinked back at him over his glass of wine. “Is that why you rented the flashy convertible? And why you used the pick-up lane? You never do that, you know it’s just supposed to be for students that time of day. Did you do that so Steve would see? Because you think I’m into him?”

Rhodey shrugged, looking smug and pleased with himself. “I already know you’re emotionally stunted, but I figured if Steve hadn’t gotten off his ass and asked you out yet, maybe there was a chance he was just as bad.”

“Or, he could just be straight,” Tony pointed out which, he realized belatedly, wasn’t exactly a denial of his crush on Steve.

Rhodey just snorted. “No man could be totally straight around you, Tones. You’re a catch,” he informed him, just to see Tony try to not look all pleased and delighted. “Anyway, I figured -- assuming he’s not straight -- that it couldn’t hurt to give him something to be a little jealous of. And he was definitely gonna be jealous of me.” Rhodey lifted his arms, flexing them so his t-shirt once more strained against his t-shirt. “If you’re a catch, then I’m Moby Dick baby.” He beamed when Tony giggled into his salad. “You need me to be your big gay wingman? I’m 100% here for you, Tones.”

Tony just shook his head, still laughing. “You’re such a dumbass,” he informed him.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too.”

The weekend had been everything Tony hadn’t realized he needed, the two of them doing all their favourite things and generally leaving a wake of chaos wherever they went. Tony loved his life, felt very fulfilled by what he did and wouldn’t trade it for anything else. But he always missed Rhodey like a limb when he wasn’t around, and having him back again, even temporarily, set something at ease in Tony’s chest.

The only problem, if he could really call it that, was that he couldn’t stop thinking about what Rhodey said about Steve. He hadn’t brought it up again, but that didn’t stop Tony from playing it over and over again, considering the previous conversations he’d had where Steve had been mentioned, with Rhodey, but with Pepper and Happy too. And, as an extension of that, how careful he was not to bring him up when he and Nat would sneak out for gelato over the lunch break, or how he didn’t join in when Bucky would start ragging on Steve in the staff room, all, “Jesus Rogers, you already look like you could stop a helicopter with your bare hands. Maybe give the gym a rest, huh?” (although Tony did have to hide his own smile at the teasing, and a couple times had caught Steve watching him with a look that one might have even described as pleased.)

And of course, thinking about all of that led to thinking about Steve himself. He was gorgeous, obviously, Tony would have to be blind not to be aware of that. But there was also how much he found himself looking forward to spending time with him, more than almost anyone else. He still hadn’t gotten tired of him, not really, not even when they argued, and he took special pride in finding ways to make Steve laugh. Steve could have been 5’2 and 96 pounds, and he would have enjoyed spending time with him just as much.

By Sunday night, when Tony found himself lost in thought again, only to realize that he’d spent the last five minutes thinking about the very specific wrinkles Steve would get in his forehead whenever he smiled, Tony had to admit defeat.

“Fuck,” he announced to his empty living room. “I’ve got a big gay crush on Steve Rogers.”

To Tony’s credit, once he’d come to a conclusion, he wasn’t the type to sit back and wallow in it. Despite leaving him only an hour later, he grabbed his phone, dialing Rhodey’s number.

“Hey Tones.” Rhodey answered on the third ring, sounding lazy and also like he was in the middle of eating something. “Miss me already?”

“Always, honeybear,” Tony responded automatically. “But also, uh… So… You may not have been so crazy after all.”

“About your big gay crush on the guidance counsellor?” Rhodey asked, because he knew Tony like nobody else. “Obviously.”

“Shut up,” Tony whined. “You know how much I hate not knowing things.” He grinned at the warm huff of laughter that came down the line at that. “So how would you feel about… Still playing the big gay wingman?”

“I’m listening…”

“Our JROTC volunteer is out for the next few weeks, some kind of family thing, and I thought, you know… You can volunteer? Take his place for a bit? And then, you know, you and I can hang out like all the time while you’re on leave, and as an extra bonus, it might make Steve jealous.”

“I mean, there’s a big difference between that, and picking you up at school in a shiny car,” Rhodey pointed out. “Sounds kinda complicated. I’d probably end up meeting him, even. You sure you don’t just want to… Tell him how you feel?”

Tony scoffed down the line. “I know you like to offer that advice for every situation, but I want you to know that the only reason that worked for you and Carol is because she thought your dumb drunk ass needed protecting. You triggered her alpha instinct, that’s all.”

“If you say so,” Rhodey told him, but Tony could already tell he was going to say yes. “Fine. But I want you to know, it’s a stupid idea, and I’m only agreeing so I have a chance to bug you while you’re trying to work.”

Tony beamed. “And that’s why you’re my favourite.”

Somewhere along the way, Steve’s (not-so) subtle ogling of Tony had turned into a full-on crush, and that had grown until Steve was pretty sure he was half in love with the man. He was doing his best to be cool about it, but he’d never met anyone quite like Tony Stark before. He found him constantly drifting into his thoughts, despite his best efforts otherwise, couldn’t seem to stop daydreaming about them being more than friends, even when he tried to tell himself that Tony was probably straight.

Or at least, he had thought that Tony was straight, right up until Friday afternoon.

Steve knew it was none of his business. He had his own life out of work, and so did Tony, and that was fine. It didn’t stop him from driving himself crazy wondering who the hell the gorgeous man who picked Tony up from school on Friday had been, and what their relationship was. The sheer joy that had been in Tony’s voice when he’d called out to him had left Steve’s heart somewhere around his knees, made worse by the so obviously affectionate and familiar nickname. He hadn’t missed the enormous cheek kiss that Tony had given him either. And sure, a kiss on the cheek didn’t necessarily scream romantic relationship, and they could just as easily be friends. But there was an ugly part of Steve that kept rearing up, insisting that he would consider himself and Tony to be friends, and he had never gotten a kiss cheek.

By Monday morning, Steve was practically itching to see Tony. Bucky, he knew, was totally sick of him after Steve had spent the entire weekend oscillating between moping and distraction, and refusing to tell him why. But the Home Ec room was right beside Tony’s classroom, so instead of going to his own office, Steve followed Bucky upstairs and then stood outside the doorway as Bucky made sure the cooking stations were prepped for the day, talking at him from the hallway. And the second he saw Tony making his way toward his classroom, looking sleepy and still a little out of it, he turned away entirely, not noticing that he was abandoning Bucky mid-sentence.

“Hey Tony!”

It went downhill from there. Tony made a strangled yelping noise, which Steve would have found adorable if not for the way everything he was holding scattered. His bag fell from his shoulder, flap opening and sending a cascade of pens and pencils and erasers flying across the floor. The cell phone he’d been texting on hit the ground with a thud that made Steve wince, and a tumbler went rolling off down the hall, leaving behind a dribbled trail of coffee leaking from the lid.

“Oh shit,” Steve said, staring horrified at the mess for a minute before he moved to help, grabbing the tumbler as it started to roll past him and getting coffee all over his hand in the process. He ignored it, moving to help gather Tony’s other things. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tony reassured him, already bent over and picking things up. “I was just distracted. You startled me, is all.”

“Still,” Steve insisted, and was about to explain further but he and Tony both reached for a pen at the same time, heads cracking together. “Oh god,” Steve groaned as Tony clasped a hand to his forehead with a pained noise, cursing creatively under his breath. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” They both straightened up, and he offered Tony a rueful smile. “I was just gonna ask how your weekend was.”

“Oh!” The pain on Tony’s face melted away entirely as he smiled soft and sweet and pleased in a way that Steve didn’t think he’d quite seen before. He tried to keep his own smile normal, but all of a sudden he couldn’t remember what a smile was supposed to feel like, or what he even normally did with his face or arms or hands. Tony didn’t seem to notice. “It was really, really great. I got to spend the entire weekend with my Rhodeybear. It was just what I needed. He’s like my other half, and I missed him like crazy. Hey!” His entire face lit up. “You should meet him sometime.”

“Right.” Steve nodded as normally as he could. “Yeah, maybe. That would be… Great. I’m glad you had a nice time, Tony,” he added, at least managing to be genuine with that. “I gotta get to work, but I’ll catch you later?” He started to head for his office, and then realized he was still holding the travel mug. “Oh right, here.”

He handed it over, taking a moment to suck away a stray drop of coffee that was sliding down the side of his index finger. Then Tony made a worrying wheezing noise and Steve stopped, staring at him. “Are you alright?”

Tony nodded just a couple more times than Steve would have classified as normal. “Yup,” he said, suddenly mumbling and not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. “Just gotta…” He trailed off and darted into his classroom without any further explanation.

“Okayyyy?” Steve said.

Tony was acting weird, there was no doubt about it. Steve had assumed that after crashing into each other, they might meet for lunch as usual, but otherwise go about their day. Instead, Tony had popped into his office no less than four times that morning, every time on official business, but with fiddly little things that could have been passed along by a student messenger, or an email. But he’d also spotted Tony outside his office several other times, sometimes lingering outside his door absorbed in something on his phone, sometimes just walking down the hall just a little too casually to be entirely normal. Steve couldn’t think of another reason for him to be in this particular hallway, but Tony would look up from his phone like he hadn’t realized this was even where he was, and a couple of times Steve had glanced up just in time to see Tony’s eyes dart away like he’d been staring at him right before. The few times they’d made full eye contact and Steve had smiled at him, Tony’s return smile had been what Steve might have called shy, if it had been coming from anyone besides Tony.

His first thought was that Tony had figured out about the crush (not an obsession, whatever Bucky said) Steve had on him, and was freaked out, and that’s what was making him act so weird. But when they met up for lunch everything seemed normal between them, and Tony certainly didn’t act like someone who was freaked out. And Steve knew Tony well enough by now that he was pretty sure if his feelings weren’t returned, Tony wouldn’t hesitate to let him know -- gently, and he’d probably be real sweet about it, but he wouldn’t let Steve drive himself crazy wondering, wouldn’t give him a chance to make a fool of himself over it.

And then he thought it might have had something to do with his company over the weekend, this Rhodey guy that Steve was absolutely not jealous of, that he was the one that had Tony all twisted up in knots. Tony had sounded smitten with him, but then again, Tony was dramatic like that. It didn’t have to mean there was anything there. And that wouldn’t have explained why he was acting so weird around Steve, who didn’t even know the guy.

Which led Steve to his next thought, the one that felt a little too fantastical to be true, even if the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to fit. Because the little smiles, the almost blushes that Tony would have… What if Steve’s feelings weren’t as one-sided as he had thought? Maybe Tony had a thing for him too, and that’s why he was acting all flustered and strange? Steve knew he was probably not the most unbiased opinion, that wanting it to be true was maybe skewing his perspective a little, making him see things a certain way. But if Tony didn’t suddenly hate him -- and he was positive that wasn’t the case -- was it so crazy to think that the little glances and smiles were a sign of something more?

He felt bolstered by the idea, unable to let it go once it was in his head. He’d never been one for letting things slide, and almost immediately he made up his mind to Talk To Tony, to maybe ask if he wanted to grab coffee after work, or a drink, and then he could tell him how he felt, see if he felt the same.

His morning flew by, distracted by daydreams of what would come next. Steve had always been a visual thinker, and he could picture all too clearly the slow smile that would spread across Tony’s cheeks when he realized his feelings weren't unrequited, the way he’d duck his head and glance up through his eyelashes (a move that always drove Steve crazy). How drinks could lead to dinner, which could lead to walking him home and -- since it was Steve’s daydream, dammit -- having Tony inviting him inside. What it would be like to finally get to kiss him, to feel his skin under his fingers with purpose, instead of just a glancing brush as they shared food or walked along beside each other?

He was still daydreaming about it when he walked into the gym right before lunchtime, intending to ask Clint another question about soccer, and stopped dead.

He had been very, very wrong.

Tony was there, for some reason, but even more confusing was the fact that this Rhodey guy was with him. Not that the why of it really mattered, Steve supposed. Tony was practically hanging off the other man’s back, crooning into his ear. As Steve watched, he pressed a big sloppy kiss to Rhodey’s cheek. “Come on, platypus,” he wheedled, delight evident in his voice. Rhodey was shaking his head and pretending to be annoyed but there was a fond, pleased smile on his face and his hand came up to hold on to Tony’s arm around his chest.

Steve may have been accused of being hopelessly optimistic, but he wasn’t naive. Whatever had had Tony acting so weird before, it obviously wasn’t a crush on Steve.

Suddenly very much needing to be anywhere else, Steve turned to try and sneak back out of the gym and promptly tripped over a stray basketball. He couldn’t help cursing as he rolled his ankle, and then winced as the sound rang out through the mostly empty space.

“Steve!” Tony looked startled at his sudden appearance, doing a weird little fidgety dance before he forced himself to still and gave him a bright smile. “Come here! You didn’t get to meet him last week, come meet my Rhodeybear!”

Steve started to mumble out some excuse about paperwork or meetings, but almost instantly Tony was across the room, grabbing him by the arm and forcibly pulling him over to Rhodey, who was very obviously trying not to laugh.

“Rhodey, this is Steve, our new guidance counselor. Steve, this is Colonel James “Rhodey” Rhodes. I talked him into volunteering with the ROTC kids while he’s on leave for the next month.”

Steve managed a smile as Rhodey reached out, shaking his hand with a firm grip. “Hey man. Good to finally meet you. Tones talks about you all the time.”

He glanced at Tony over Steve’s shoulder, and something on Tony’s face made him laugh. His eyes were sharp and perceptive and Steve felt a flare of panic because oh shit, he knew. Somehow this man had figured out that Steve had a crush on his boyfriend. And the worst part was that he didn’t seem angry. There was no threat in his handshake, his smile open and friendly.

“Uh, good to meet you too,” he managed, doing his best to smile back at him and not look like he was having a complete panic attack.

There was something so effortlessly cool about Rhodey. He was, frankly, gorgeous, with his teasing smile and ridiculously well-fitting leather jacket to boot, but he seemed genuinely nice too. He could have been a total ass, throwing it in Steve’s face that he was with Tony, but there was nothing of that in his body language. Steve couldn’t help liking him immediately, and he usually had good instincts for these things. But he also couldn’t help being intimidated and more than a little jealous -- although, for a moment he wasn’t entirely sure of which one. It was definitely Rhodey; his ridiculous crush was on Tony, so of course Rhodey was the one he was jealous of. It was maybe also a little bit Tony because fuck, Rhodey was cool.

Steve was barely aware of the conversation that followed, feeling his heart sink lower every time he caught a glimpse of the besotted smile on Tony’s face. They made small talk for a few minutes, and at least he was pretty sure that he hadn’t said anything too strange, even if he sort of felt like his own face was melting. There were vague plans made for the three of them to get together for drinks or something in the next few weeks (Steve had exactly zero intention of following through on that particular idea) and then he was finally able to make his escape. Feeling like an absolute idiot, he slipped his way down the hall and back to his own office, where he shut the door firmly behind him and slunk down in his desk chair, letting his head fall against the desk with a slight bang, whining into the empty space.

After that, Steve backed off a little, not wanting to seem like he was encroaching on their relationship. He was crazy about Tony, but he wanted him to be happy, and the two of them seemed right together. And clearly Rhodey had a good effect on Tony, because after a few more days whatever seemed to be going on with him stopped too. The manic behaviour evened out as he went back to how they’d been before, if maybe slightly more awkward than they’d once been. They still met for lunch regularly, still got along stupidly well, goofing around and joking and making each other laugh. If their lunches were slightly less often than they’d once been, well, Steve supposed that made sense when Tony’s boyfriend was right there at the school with him. He should be glad he still got lunch with Tony at all.

A few more weeks, and even that slight awkwardness had faded. They were warm and familiar around each other again, their new normal somehow less and more than it had been before. Steve still had a thing for Tony, but now it felt settled into him, like it was just a part of who he was. He didn’t want to admit it, but he thought he might have settled right into being completely in love with Tony. But he could be normal around him, because that was just part of their friendship, loving Tony just a part of who he was now. He felt right being around Tony, even if there was sometimes a bittersweet ache, and he wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything.

But every once in awhile, he’d catch Tony giving him a soft, sad smile that he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to see, a look on his face that Steve might have described as just a little disappointed, and he couldn’t help wondering. Maybe if Tony had been single, and maybe if Steve had been just a little less scared, they might have been able to have something more between them.

Tony huffed out a sigh, having no idea what was going on in the movie he was watching with Rhodey. “Honeybear,” he said. “I think it’s time to admit defeat.”

“Tony Stark? Giving up?” Rhodey rolled his head along the back of the couch, giving Tony a slightly tipsy grin. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Hilarious,” Tony told him dryly, grinning despite himself. “I’m serious. I don’t think Steve is into me. I thought he was jealous at first but…” He shrugged helplessly. “And we’re friends. Like, really good friends. He’s probably the person I trust most after you. I shouldn’t try to mess with that, right?”

“I don’t think it’s messing with it, exactly,” Rhodey told him. “Starting a romantic relationship with him isn’t necessarily better or worse than being friends. It’s just... Different.” He obviously understood Tony’s point though. “You really don’t think there’s anything there?”

Tony just shrugged again, a crooked, self-deprecating smile on his lips, and Rhodey rubbed his hand over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry man,” he told him, hauling Tony against him for a hug.

“It’s okay,” Tony mumbled into Rhodey’s neck, though his arms squeezed around his waist, holding on tight for a long minute. “Really. I love having him as a friend too, and I’ll get over the whole crush thing eventually. I’ll be okay. I always am.”

Rhodey hummed, sounding like he didn’t quite believe him. “Still. Ice cream and bourbon in the meantime?”

Tony managed a real smile then, though he didn’t let go of Rhodey right away. “Definitely.”

Steve sat alone in the restaurant, fighting a smile at the sympathetic looks he kept getting from the wait staff. He was meeting his friend Sharon for dinner after she’d been overseas for the last six months on a work contract. But Sharon was notoriously bad at personal appointments, so it was hit or miss whether she’d actually turn up or if she would cancel at the last minute again. Steve wasn’t really phased, used to it by now.

He was occupying himself with games on his phone when he heard a familiar voice. He frowned at the screen, trying to place it before he looked up and made awkward eye contact with someone he’d rather avoid, and then realized it was Rhodey. Immediately he wondered if Tony was with him, and his heart beat a little faster at the thought, even though he’d just seen him a few hours ago. Looking around for them, he smiled when he spotted Rhodey’s familiar form first. And then his heart stopped beating completely for a moment.

Rhodey wasn’t with Tony.

There was a woman with him, tall and muscular with short blonde hair. She was just as gorgeous as Rhodey, the two of them an admittedly stunning pair. She was laughing too, not quite as loud, and there was a softness in her eyes as she smiled at him. Then Rhodey’s hand came up, sliding across the table to tangle his fingers with hers, the movement familiar and intimate. He leaned forward, murmuring something soft that Steve couldn’t catch, and then she was pulling back with a wide smile.

“Check please?” she hollered with absolutely no decorum, making Rhodey burst out laughing again.

Steve ducked behind his menu, watching the two of them gather up their things. He didn’t particularly want to confront Rhodey here and now, just in case he was wrong, but fortunately (or not) they only seemed to have eyes for each other. Rhodey helped her with her jacket, making the woman snort and try to elbow him, and he kept his hand very low on her back, right on the edge of being inappropriate, as they walked to the door. Steve turned away as they walked right past the table, but he looked up in time to see them pause in the foyer, mostly out of sight, before the women fisted her hands in Rhodey’s shirt and pulled him for a slow, lingering, hungry kiss. Rhodey looked downright dazed when she’d pulled back, until she said something else to make him laugh and the two of them slipped out the front door.

Steve stared at the space where they’d been for a long time after they’d gone.

“Shit.”

Sharon did end up cancelling on him, and with Bucky away on a bonding trip with some old army buddies, Steve was left alone to stew around the apartment all weekend. Normally he’d probably have gone to Tony for advice, but that obviously wasn’t an option here and Steve didn’t know what to do.

He knew he should tell Tony; he’d want to know if it were him. But then there was the question of if he’d want Steve to be the one to tell him -- or, for that matter, if Steve wanted to be the one to tell him, which he definitely didn’t. If Tony had figured out about Steve’s crush on him, would he even believe him? He honestly didn’t know what he would do if Tony thought he was making it up to get between him and his boyfriend. He’d like to think Tony knew him better than that, but people could get weird about their significant others.

By Monday morning, Steve still had no idea what he was going to do. He had barely slept all weekend and was tired and miserable, found himself taking the long way round to his office to avoid the chance of running into Tony in the staff room.

“Wow, Rogers. You look terrible.”

Lost in thought, Steve nearly jumped at the sound of Nat’s voice. He looked up to see her sitting in her classroom, grading papers and watching him with an amused look on her face.

“Yeah,” he rubbed at the back of his neck absently. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

Some of the amusement slid off her face and she arched an eyebrow at him. “You okay?”

Steve shrugged. ”Just… Life,” he offered vaguely. Then he blinked at her, eyes going wide. “You can help me though! I… I need you to talk to Tony for me. It’s kind of a big thing. Please, Nat? I don’t know what else to do. I don’t… I’m worried he’ll hate me if I tell him, or won’t believe me, or both. But it won’t seem so… personal coming from you. Blunt honesty is your whole thing, right? Plus he’s more likely to believe you when he’s already half terrified of you anyway.”

Nat was back to looking amused, trying to follow Steve’s rambling. “And why is Tony half terrified of me?”

Steve winced. “Uh… There’s a rumor going around that you’re secretly a Russian sleeper agent?”

“The Cold War ended in 1991,” she told him without missing a beat, voice eerily atonal. “Russia and America are allies now.”

There was a moment of absolute silence before she cracked up and Steve glared at her.

“That. That is exactly why people are scared of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told him airily, before relenting with a sigh. “Okay, so what is it that you need me to tell Tony?”

“I… Rhodey’s cheating on him,” he blurted out all in a rush, before he could chicken out. “I saw him at dinner on Friday with this gorgeous woman, and they were very clearly together, kissing and everything, and I just… I don’t know how to tell him.

Nat stared at him, blinked twice, and then burst out laughing. Steve frowned at her, taken aback, but as Natasha kept on laughing, to the point that there were actual tears coming from her eyes, Steve got more and more cranky. Folding his arms across his chest, his frown turned into a full on glare as he waited for her to get control of herself.

“Are you done?” he asked when she finally stopped laughing what felt like five minutes later. “Cause I’d really like to know what’s so funny about all of this.”

But Natasha just shook her head, still grinning. “Let me know when you figure it out, Steve.”

By the end of the day, Steve had successfully managed to avoid Tony, and he was exhausted. He knew he couldn’t keep this up forever, and he didn’t particularly want to. He’d missed Tony today. Even on the days when they didn’t get to spend time together, there was always a smile and wave when they passed each other in the hall. This just felt weird.

Going the long way again, he made his way to Bucky’s classroom, hovering in the doorway as he watched Bucky put away the last of the materials they’d been using.

“Hey Buck?” he said after a minute.

Bucky looked up, frowning at the look on Steve’s face. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

Steve ignored that. “Remember, when we were kids, and I grabbed you before you fell off the fire escape showing off for Jenny Calloway? And you said you owed me your first born? I’m cashing in. I need you to do something for me, no questions. And if you laugh at me, I’m gonna punch you so hard your grandkids’ teeth’ll hurt.”

“Well that seems unnecessary,” Bucky drawled, leaning back against one of the work stations. “You know I’d do it if you just said please. Seriously, Stevie, you look like you’re about to pass out. What’s up?”

“Rhodey is cheating on Tony. I saw him with someone, and… They were definitely together. Can you just like… Let it slip? I’m afraid if I tell him he’ll think I’m lying, because --,”

“You’re desperately in love with him?” he asked, lips quirking up.

“Buck!” Steve looked around like Tony was suddenly going to pop out of the corner of the classroom and call him out on it. “Come on, this is serious. Don’t fucking laugh at me!”

Bucky held his hands up in surrender, and was quiet for a minute, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he was still fighting back a smile. “Right, okay,” he said, pushing off the desk and striding into the hallway. Steve’s eyes went wide.

“No, shit, wait,” he hissed. “I didn’t mean right now!” He started to follow Bucky down the hall, then stopped after a few feet because Bucky had already reached Tony’s classroom, and he didn't think he wanted to be here for this. But while Steve was debating if he could make it to the stairs before Bucky said something, Bucky knocked sharply on the side of the doorframe.

“Hey! Stevie thinks you’re dating Rhodes,” he announced, before wandering off down the hall. Steve stared after him because what the fuck, that wasn’t what he’d told him to say, and where was he even going?

Before he had a chance to process, there was a crash from Tony’s classroom and then faintly, the sound of his voice. “Did he just…?” He sounded strangled, and then he was skidding into the hallway, hair standing up about five inches from his head and eyes wild.

“Um, hi,” he said. Steve could practically see his chest heaving from here.

“Hi,” Steve said back a little stupidly.

“I’m not dating Rhodey,” Tony burst out, staring at Steve with wide eyes like he couldn’t look away. “Never have been. Well, we had an almost thing in university, but -- that’s not the point. Rhodey and I aren’t together.” He gaze shifted, looking at Steve imploringly. His tongue flicked out over his lips, and Steve swallowed hard.

“I just…” He took a couple tentative steps toward Tony. “He showed up, and you were all over him, and you had about five million nicknames for him and so… I figured…”

“Nope,” Tony said quickly. “We’re just… Like that. Rhodey is very firmly in love with somebody else. We, uh… I was helping him shop for engagement rings last week.” He took a deep breath and closed the remaining distance between them, eyes somewhere around Steve’s collarbone. “Listen, Rogers. I know Carol looks like a lesbian, but so does Clint with the wrong glasses and a slim-cut pant, so please reconsider your personal biases and trust me. It's her and Rhodey. And it's.... it's you and me. Right?"

Steve could feel the ridiculous smile splitting his cheeks. “Yeah?” he asked, a little breathless.

“I mean…” Tony looked up at him through ridiculously long eyelashes. “I’d like it to be?”

There were a million and one things that Steve could say in response to that, but he couldn’t think of a single one. Instead, he curled his hand around the back of Tony’s neck, dipping his head to kiss him softly. Tony made a soft, whimpery noise, hands coming up to clutch at the front of Steve’s shirt. He couldn’t resist deepening the kiss, letting his tongue tease against the seam of Tony’s lips for a minute before he pulled back again, just a little.

“I thought… You were acting so weird. I thought you’d figured out I had a crush on you and, you know. Didn’t know how to turn me down.”

Tony made a pained noise, and then started laughing, pressing his face into Steve’s chest. His entire body was shaking with it, and Steve couldn’t help grinning as he wrapped his hands around Tony’s back.

“I was acting weird because I had a thing for you. I figured you couldn’t possibly be interested because otherwise, why wouldn’t you have made a move? I was laying it on way too strong. I’ve never been the best at processing stuff like that. I get a little… manic.”

Steve wanted to kick his own ass, but it was hard to be upset when he finally, finally had his arms full of Tony. “Really?” he teased instead. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Tony bit his pec in retaliation — it was right there, how was he supposed to resist? — sending a full-body shudder through Steve. There wasn’t much for him to do after that but pull Tony up into another kiss, and then another, until they were making out lazily right there in the hallway.

They might have kept going forever, if they hadn’t been interrupted by a very pointed throat clearing.

“Okay, seriously guys?” Bucky protested. “I’ve been killing time with Nat for the past half hour. Can’t you do that in one of your own classrooms? Or better yet, a goddamn bedroom? Preferably not in our shared apartment,” he added with a glare at Steve.

Steve could feel his cheeks heating, but he didn’t really feel embarrassed, especially not with the smirk Tony was leveling at him. Steve shivered again, and his smirk grew wider.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, tossing a look at Bucky over his shoulder. “We’re going. Don’t get your ponytail in a knot.” Then he caught Steve’s hand. “Can I uh… can I buy you dinner? I know a great Italian place. Not too fancy, cozy… intimate.”

Steve’s face hurt from smiling so hard. “Sounds like a date,” he said, getting a goofy little delighted giggle out of Tony.

“You know,” Tony said as they headed for the parking lot, fingers entwined. “You don’t have to be jealous of Rhodey’s nicknames. I can give you a nickname.”

Steve snorted. “I’ve heard some of Rhodey’s nicknames. I think I’m okay.”

Tony stuck his tongue out at him, softening it by standing on tiptoe to give him another quick kiss. “Oh, what about Cap? You know, like Captain America? In the old comic books? You kind of look like him, all big and blond and buff and like you could single-handedly take down a Nazi base and rescue the damsel in distress. The damsel in distress being me, obviously.”

Steve just laughed, shaking his head and happier than he’d ever been. “Tony, that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”

@tonystarkbingo

#tonystarkbingo2020 #tsb2020 #stony #steve rogers #tony stark #teacher au #mutual pining #get together #james rhodes #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #background carol/rhodey #fic #my fic

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